


Devotion

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beta Shiro (Voltron), Bottom Keith (Voltron), Clothed Sex, First Time, Galra Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Injuries, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Omega Keith (Voltron), Praise Kink, Purring Keith (Voltron), Scent Marking, Season/Series 07, Sex In A Cave, Sharing a Bed, Size Kink, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Top Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21794890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: On the journey back to Earth, a quintessence storm on an alien planet knocks the Lions out of commission. Shiro is injured in the crash landing and the Paladins are separated. With plans to reunite, Keith focuses on keeping Shiro safe.But it seems there are a few revelations on the horizon for Keith and Shiro, involving Shiro's soulmate and a few new Galra qualities Keith's grown into.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 193
Kudos: 957





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ben_jaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/gifts).



> Fic request from [Mimi](https://twitter.com/Dekadai1) who requested a soulmate + omegaverse combo for sheith! (Where the Galra have omegaverse dynamics and Humans have soulmates, and not vice versa.) 
> 
> As a general content warning: Keith does have a heat in this fic, and along with that a/b/o trope, this makes him a little frenzied/inhibited/desperate when initiating sex. While there isn't anything I feel needs to be tagged **dubious consent** in this fic (as under normal circumstances, both of them would still want this), I want to give the general warning. For those of you who might be sensitive to those tropes, you might want to skip the lead-up to the sex scene. 
> 
> There are a few people I need to thank for this one! First, thanks to [Janel](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813), [Ana](https://twitter.com/shiningwills), and [Sarah](https://twitter.com/ailurea), who helped me with brainstorming ideas for this and were a TREMENDOUS help; thanks to Sarah for letting me borrow the name "Kithra"! And thank you to [Vee](https://twitter.com/sizedifference), [Ary](https://twitter.com/Aryagraceling), and [Amanda](https://twitter.com/SundaySEternal) for reading over earlier drafts for me! And thank you to everyone else who offered to read over this for me, too (there were so many people I yeeted this at that I got too embarrassed to follow up lol).

_“I don’t have a soulmate,” Keith tells Shiro on a hot summer afternoon._

_The two of them are currently hiding in Shiro’s room because his AC works better than the one in Keith’s dorm. Despite the gentle whirl of cool air, sweat still limps Keith’s hair up, making it curl at the nape of his neck._

_He stares at Shiro, eyes blazing hotter than the summer heat, like he’s expecting Shiro to laugh in his face, or to agree to some long-held belief Keith’s kept tucked close to his chest. Shiro understands the sentiment, which is why his smile is sympathetic but not pitying._

_“Yeah,” Shiro answers. “Me neither.”_

_Keith’s look of surprise is a flash, like lightning striking water._

_But Shiro’s confession solidifies something between them: two people lost in the world. Shiro’s thankful for it if only because he knows he can help Keith, guide him through a world that’d claim he’s broken for what he lacks, rather than the opportunity it gives him._

_They can be untethered. Nothing has to anchor them down. Shiro knows that well— he’s long since accepted the stars as his soulmates._

-

“And that’s when I told him to stick his hydraulic dove-engine into his artificial exhibitor module!” Pidge crows, finishing her story with a slightly manic grin flashing across the viewscreen. 

Keith hears Shiro laugh in response, a rich sound that still sounds a little sleepy at the edges. It’s a beautiful sound, though, and one that Keith thrills in hearing. When he glances over his shoulder to look up at Shiro, Shiro’s smile is warm and his eyes are on Pidge. He hangs behind Keith’s pilot chair, his one arm grasping it for support as he leans. When Keith takes a deep breath, inhaling Shiro’s scent, it reads much the same as that smile— warm and unhurried. Shiro’s in no distress and he’s not hiding it, either. 

“Sounds like you,” Shiro says around his chuckle. “Guess I really did miss a lot while I was…” He pauses, barely noticeable, and glances down at Keith. His eyes dart away just as quickly, meeting Pidge’s again, and when Keith breathes, Shiro’s scent is twinged with the bitter scent of sadness. It’s as if nothing’s happened, but Keith notices the difference when Shiro says, “Missing.” 

He keeps doing that. Keith’s noticed it because of course he has, but he doesn’t think the others have clued into it— the way Shiro always pauses before he says _gone_ or _disappeared_ or _missing_. How he never says _dead._ Shiro hasn’t told the team about his death and Keith isn’t sure if he ever will, whether if it’s a matter of protecting the team or if Shiro’s avoiding saying the word aloud again. Keith can only guess; Shiro hasn’t really talked to him about it. 

Not that Keith’s really brought it up, either. There’s always something going on with their journey back to Earth, and Shiro has enough on his plate adjusting to merely _living_ again. Once, in the dead of night when both of them should have been sleeping and simply weren’t, Shiro admitted to Keith that even breathing felt like too much sometimes. It’s the only admittance Shiro’s made regarding his living, breathing body.

Pidge is still grinning at the two of them through the viewscreen. “And I still haven’t even told you about that time Lance insulted an Unilu by—” 

“No,” Lance breaks in, his face filling his own viewscreen with undisguised pain. He cries out, “Don’t tell Shiro about that!” 

“Well now I have to hear it,” Shiro says serenely, his eyes twinkling wickedly. 

Lance groans, hiding his face in his hands as Pidge launches into the story about the one time Lance asked an unsuspecting Unilu when her baby was due, only to learn that asking such a question initiated the formal induction of an unborn child’s godparent— and nobody was particularly happy with Lance being a random alien’s godparent. Not Lance, not the Unilu parent-to-be, and certainly not the Unilu’s partner. 

If Keith had to estimate, he’s probably heard this story close to three hundred million times. Still, it’s worth suffering through the hideously embarrassing story just to see Shiro’s sympathetic cringes and his barely suppressed grins. He’s trying to look sorry for Lance, but it’s clear that he’s amused.

And judging from the way Lance groans into his hands, he knows it, too. 

Keith doesn’t even disguise how he’s only looking at Shiro now, watching his reactions to the stories. Shiro is growing more and more expressive each day, remembering himself in bits and pieces. It’s good to see, and with every day that Shiro can smile a little easier, something eases Keith’s his chest. 

But then, that’s just business as usual: looking at Shiro and making sure he’s okay, his feelings coiling sweetly in his chest. He’s loved Shiro for years now and that’s not about to change. Of course it’s only grown— across space, across time, across all the challenges. He looks at Shiro and all he sees is someone precious, someone he’d die to protect. 

Warmth floods through him. He’s used to that feeling, too, when it comes to Shiro. Today it lingers maybe a little longer though, tingling under his skin, prickling at the back of his neck, a flush of heat slicing through him. 

“Right, Keith?” Pidge asks, jolting Keith from his thoughts.

Reluctantly, he tears his eyes away from Shiro to stare at Pidge on the viewscreen. “What?” 

Pidge has the decency to only roll her eyes rather than say anything about Keith’s attentive staring-at-Shiro. Maybe they’re all too used to that now, too. Instead, Pidge says, “Oh, nevermind.” 

“She wanted to know if you remember what Lance said after the Incident,” Shiro offers, voice edged with amusement, his smile sleepy. He’s hunched over the chair enough that he can rest his cheek on his folded arm, head tilted as he glances between Pidge on the screen and Keith in Black’s pilot chair. 

“Oh,” Keith says. “I. Uh. I think Pidge tells this story better.” 

Pidge apparently agrees because she cuts in, “ _How can I take care of a baby if I can’t take care of myself?_ ” 

Lance wails mournfully into his hands, his ears bright pink now that everyone’s making fun of him in front of Shiro. Shiro coughs out one little laugh that he tries to hide for Lance’s sake but doesn’t quite manage it. Keith thinks it’s fine; he spots Lance peek through his fingers, watching Shiro laugh, his wounded look belied by his loopy smile peeking out from beneath his palm. 

“Alright,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. “That’s enough. We’re approaching our new camping spot soon, so we should stay on alert.” 

Keith hates to cut off the teasing, especially since it seems to be doing Shiro so much good. But it’s his job to get everyone touched down safe. They’ve mapped a tentative trajectory through this sector— one Coran vaguely recognizes from his past travels— and are heading towards a small, rocky planet with a supposedly breathable atmosphere, potentially edible plants, and yalmors to help recharge the Lions. 

After the Paladins pipe down and Keith mutes the voice channel, a heavy hand falls to rest on his shoulder. Keith doesn’t jolt, but he blinks in surprise before he turns his head to look back up at Shiro. 

Once more, warmth floods through him and he feels his cheeks flush warm. It’s a pleasant feeling, at least, although his smile is a little tentative when he meets Shiro’s eyes. 

“Everything okay?” Shiro asks him, because of course despite everything he’s going through, he asks after Keith first. “You were spacing out a bit. I thought that was my job.” 

The humor doesn’t quite land and the last thing Keith wants to do is laugh over what Shiro’s going through, but Keith casts him a sympathetic smile all the same. His hand lifts before he can second-guess it, squeezing around Shiro’s wrist. He watches Shiro’s expression flicker, just once, although Keith can’t place the reason why. 

“I’m fine,” Keith assures him, fingertips ghosting, the layers of their gloves separating them from real touch. “Just thinking. Lots on my mind.” 

Saying as much is the truth, at least. With helping keep their friends safe while traveling, looking after Shiro, saying goodbye to his mother so she can return to help the Blades, and general stress of space-travel as a newly minted leader, Keith’s had a lot on his plate. 

“I understand that,” Shiro says quietly, and at least doesn’t make a joke about that, either. But of course Shiro would understand. He’s had nothing but time to think and think and _think_ lately. His smile looks a shade too dark. 

Keith sighs, kicking his feet out and pushing away Black’s controls. She rumbles in the back of his mind and takes control, cruising on autopilot as Keith stands and turns to Shiro. 

He tries to focus just on looking at Shiro, but when he takes a deep breath, all he can think about is the way Shiro’s scent fills him. If Keith’s honest, he’s been noticing that more and more lately. Naturally, he’s always gravitated towards Shiro like this. And now that he knows that _smelling_ Shiro and finding comfort in that is just a Galra thing he needs to get used to, it’s just a comfort— inhaling and having Shiro there, wrapped around him like a warm blanket. 

Sometimes, Keith knows he can get lost in scenting, focus too much on Shiro’s subtle changes and shifts of emotions and moods. He doesn’t know how to describe it, or even how he’d put it into words if any of his human friends were to ask him. It simply _is._ Keith’s never paid much attention to others’ scents, but Shiro’s has always called him back— warm, comforting. Home. 

Of course Shiro’s scent is the only one that’s ever mattered. 

“Hey,” Keith offers, unsure how to put voice to his thoughts. “You… You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s on your mind.” 

One side of Shiro’s mouth plucks up in a lopsided smile, boyish and sweet and unbearably _Shiro_. “I know, Keith.” 

“Okay.” 

They stand there in an awkward silence. Keith knows that the permission isn’t going to be enough for Shiro to discuss what’s on his mind. That’s just simply how Shiro’s always been and Keith isn’t about to force him to do anything. When Shiro’s ready to talk, he’ll talk with Keith. Keith’s always known that. 

And he’ll be here, when Shiro’s ready to talk.

Keith heaves a sigh. He drums his fingers against the back of the pilot’s chair, gripping it to keep himself steady. Shiro watches him, eyes too dark and too heavy and too weighted. If there was even a small amount of that weight Keith could take onto his own shoulders, he would. And it’s exactly for that reason that Keith knows Shiro isn’t telling him anything this time. That’s always been Shiro’s way. 

“I really—” Keith begins.

But he doesn’t get to finish the thought because Black’s controls give a definitive beep, alerting Keith to the approaching planet. The Lions are on course to land and recharge, so with a heavy sigh Keith turns away from Shiro and retreats to his chair. He slumps down in it, gripping the controls. 

Before them, the planet they’ll camp on for the next day or two looms. It’s strange how similar and dissimilar to Earth it feels, approaching a planet rich with water and land, and yet looking so starkly different, the continental drift all wrong, more grey than green, the oceans a deeper, darker blue, so dark they’re nearly black. What little of it they can even see, what with the thick cloud cover swirling just within the atmosphere like a coiling steam. It’d be easy to mistake it for a gas planet for all the twisting, curling licks of gaseous elements. 

“Okay, team, let’s head in slow and steady,” he tells the other Paladins, coaxing Black onward along Pidge’s calculated entry angle. 

The Lions make their approach and Keith’s aware of Shiro at his back, gripping the pilot’s chair again. Maybe it’s because he knows Keith is concentrating, or because he’s finally found the words he wants to say, but Shiro offers quietly: “I know I could tell you anything, Keith. You always listen.” 

Keith tightens his grip on the controls, unsure how he’s meant to read or absorb those words. He wants to stop the Lion. He wants to turn around and talk with Shiro, look into his eye as he spells out and swears his dedication, as he vows and promises _yes, of course._

_Yes, always. Shiro._

Keith doesn’t have a soulmate. He’s known that since as far back as he can remember. He’s known it all the more so since his time with the Blades and his mother— Galra don’t have soulmates, period, an evolutionary encumbrance that’s been weeded from Galra blood over millennia— but still Keith’s soul aches for Shiro. It’s ached for Shiro since the moment he sat on a grubby cement step and heard Shiro calling out to him, urging him to give the flyer a try. 

Since that moment, Keith’s felt as if Shiro’s name has been seared onto every inch of his body, or maybe his soulmark’s always been branded on his heart: invisible, but infinite, marking every beat of his heart, every pulse of his blood. Every inch of him is Shiro’s. 

But Keith doesn’t have the chance to put any of that to words, to turn to Shiro and insist on language. The Lions enter the atmosphere and there’s the immediate swish of fire at the hulls as the friction ignites the air itself. It isn’t even startling anymore. Keith’s used to landing on planets from space— and how strange that something like that, something so miraculous, could feel mundane now.

But about two seconds in and it’s clear something’s wrong. He hears Black grumble in his mind and feels her rattling all around them. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Shiro tense up as they hit turbulence in their entry, the fire licking up across Black’s viewscreens, obscuring their view. 

Black lurches abruptly, sloppy and without her usual grace. Keith flinches as he tries to set her back on course. 

“Shiro—” 

Keith does turn away from the controls just to put eyes on Shiro, to make sure he’s okay. Shiro grips the chair tight with his one hand, shifting his weight to follow Black’s movements so he doesn’t go toppling over.

“Something’s wrong—” Pidge calls over the comms. 

“We’re entered at the wrong angle?” Hunk asks, already distressed. 

“Try to correct!” Keith barks, letting go of Black’s controls to help steady Shiro. 

Shiro looks at him sharply. “Keith—” 

Black lumbers to the side as she hits a heavy patch of air. It sends Keith sprawling, gripping the controls to try to correct and sending Black careening instead. Keith and Shiro both tumble through the cockpit. Shiro slams hard against one of Black’s walls and Keith cringes in sympathy as he nearly falls from the pilot’s chair, body splayed. 

The other Paladins seem in equal distress. He hears them calling to each other over the comms, can see through his viewscreen that the Lions are rolling and tumbling through the air. Red and Green, the smallest of the group, barrel roll like they’re already dead in the air. Red might be able to correct under normal circumstances, but Lance is too rattled to even hope to control her correctly, if his voice over the comms is any indication. 

“Keith!” Lance yells, voice pitched high with anxiety. “What do we do?” 

“We have to stay together!” Hunk yells. “If we’re separated—” 

“We can’t,” Allura cuts in, sounding a little frantic, too, as she struggles to control Blue. 

They go hurtling through the atmosphere, although now Black’s rolling too much for Keith to get a good view of the others except in flashes. 

Allura cries, “We have to pull up.” 

“We can’t!” Pidge interrupts. “The Lions are losing power! They’re not—” 

It’s true, though. Keith can hear Black going quieter in his mind as she loses her energy and power. Something about the storm they’re entering disrupts too much. Keith feels the pulse of a headache, the kind he only ever gets when he’s close to too much quintessence at once. 

“Everyone—” he grits out, eyes flicking to Shiro. He watches Shiro struggle to get onto his feet only to get thrown to the other side of the cockpit when Black takes a hard, lurching shudder forward, knocking Shiro’s feet out from under him. 

“We’re going to crash!” Hunk yells.

That’s true, too. Keith can see it like it’s inevitable. They can’t see the ground yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Green is lifeless outside Black’s window, just rocketing through the air, jerking slightly whenever Pidge tries to control her. Black is dimming in Keith’s mind and all he can do is correct her trajectory and hope for the best. 

“We’re going down,” he says. “Aim to make the impact as easy as possible.” He barks orders and instructions, watching through the viewscreen to make sure the Paladins are following his orders, making sure the passengers are bracing.

He whips his head around towards Shiro, fear twisted up in his chest, but he doesn’t need to instruct him— he gives Keith a steady nod and braces himself. He ducks his head to protect the back of his neck with his only arm, his hand gripping tight to Black. He’s as steadied as he’s going to be, braced for impact. 

Keith takes a steadying breath and watches the lights around them flicker, Black’s quintessence stripping away into the quintessence storm they’ve lurched through. All around them, the clouds swarm with intense purple light, so deep and so powerful it nearly bleeds red around them, flooding the cockpit with too much energy and matter. 

The Paladins smash through the edge of the storm and plummet down towards the planet’s surface. They’re able to pull up as they get closer, using the last of the energies to lessen the impact. It’ll be a harsh landing, but they should survive. They streak across the sky, separating through the atmosphere and heading towards the areas of least impact— away from mountains and forests. 

Keith braces himself, takes a deep breath, and accepts that Black isn’t responding. He flinches as the ground swells up towards them, fast approaching, and then they hit. And everything goes black. 

-

_Shiro is seven when his soulmark scripts itself. He feels the blazing burn on his skin, searing into his flesh like someone were dragging the ink across his skin. He touches the name afterwards, the slide of it across his hip, and doesn’t recognize the name or the language it speaks to him, the echo of the person he’s meant to know, whose soul aches for his. The person he was born for. The person he was born to meet._

_He is, of course, too young to fully understand the concept of a soulmate beyond the bite of pain digging into his flesh, into a body that already aches every day, that’s always just on the edge of collapse. The blazing feeling of the name on his hip is much like the pulse of electrical currents up his arms from his new medicinal bracelets. He’s used to the hospital visits by now and this is just one more ache._

_But it’s fine; Shiro is used to the pain._

-

_Keith is born without a soulmark. As he grows, he waits and waits. His dad tells him his mark will come when he’s ready, when it’s time. But it never comes and soon, his dad is gone too._

_And then Keith is alone._

_Keith is sixteen when he stops waiting for his mark to appear. Sometimes a soulmark is for a sibling, a parent, a friend, a loved one. Sometimes they take a while to appear. But Keith has never been patient._

_Keith thinks that, probably, it’s_ possible _to be born without a mark. Plenty of people are born with one and never find their soulmate. It’s possible to simply never have one. But it doesn’t seem possible that he should be the only one without it, in a world full of people._

_Keith turns sixteen and accepts this about himself: he’s broken, and he was never meant to be whole._

_His mother never wanted him. His father left him. Nobody else has ever stayed. Why would a soulmate be any different?_

_Once he stops waiting, Keith thinks it’ll hurt less. Of course it doesn’t._

_But it’s fine; Keith is used to the pain._

-

Shiro comes back into consciousness with a low groan, a buzzing in his ears and a deep ache in his leg. He presses his hand to his chest, instinctive, feeling for his own heartbeat. It’s a strange habit he’s adopted ever since returning to his body, something morbid in the way that he wakes up and, always, the first thing he does is touch his chest and then press his fingers into his pulsepoint at his neck, as if somehow he might exist without a heartbeat again. Always wanting to double-check. _Just in case._

He blinks his eyes open and looks himself over. His ribs ache when he breathes but he doesn’t think they’re broken— bruised, maybe, possibly a small hairline fracture from the force of the impact. The pain in his leg must be from where he’s landed hard, all twisted up, against Black’s wall and then floor, a deep cut scraped down the side and bleeding sluggishly. Not serious, he thinks, and easy to ignore. 

Ironic to think if he had his Galra arm still, he could seal it up, just like he— he did. Once. His thigh gives a little throb of pain, as if remembering how he got the scar shaped like his own hand.

More importantly, though, he turns his head to seek out Keith. He finds him quickly, already at Black’s helm and trying to get to Shiro first. When he sees Shiro awake, his shoulders relax just a little. 

Shiro must not have been unconscious for long. Black is still around them, knocked out from the quintessence storm. Keith seems barely standing, but also doesn’t seem seriously injured. His superior piloting would have made sure of that, navigating and pulling Black up at the last second to lessen the impact and danger for them both. 

Shiro shouldn’t feel a swell of pride right now, but of course he does. Keith’s always been amazing, no matter the situation. He’s always risen above everything. 

_Are you okay?_ Keith mouths— or outright says, although Shiro can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. He nods his head, anyway. 

As the world comes back into focus, his senses come with it— overloud and painful; he’s used to that, too. Every day living is near torture— lights too bright, sounds too loud, touch too intense. He hears the Paladins crackling over the airways, calling out to each other and sounding off. 

Keith is moving towards him, kneeling. He, at least, had his helmet on which has hopefully saved him from bumping his head. Shiro’s grateful Keith’s alright but can’t help but wonder if he himself has a concussion for his lack of helmet. 

Up close, at least Shiro can hear Keith— his hurried breath, the hoarse gravel of his words when he speaks. 

“Paladins,” Keith says into his communicator, hands already reaching for Shiro to cup his face. “Report in.” 

This close, Shiro can hear the other Paladins sign off in Keith’s ear, confirming that everyone is okay. Shiro breathes a sigh of relief. 

Shiro feels his soulmark pulse from where it burns against his hip. He’s used to that feeling— it rises up occasionally, like the phantom pain of missing a limb. His botched soulmark isn’t his focus right now, though. Keith’s staring at him, brow pinched. Keith studies him so intensely, then sweeps his gaze down, cataloguing any potential injuries. Shiro angles his leg up, hiding the bleeding. 

Keith’s touch is a searing point of pain, pleasant and sweet in its agony. Even with his gloves on, Shiro feels the point of contact, another body touching his, another precious body touching his. It’s just another feeling he’s used to, that he never gets tired of. It’s only gotten worse now that he’s returned to himself. Everything feels new to him now. Everything feels too sensitive after his soul’s long dormancy in Black’s consciousness.

Shiro can still remember it in vivid detail. Floating through the ether for days, hours, centuries, he doesn’t know. Sometimes he’d walk. Sometimes he’d run. Sometimes he’d scream and scream and scream until a human throat would go raw. But his remained perfectly eased in the astral plane with no corporeal form to ruin.

Most nights, he’d trace his fingertip over the searing soulmark branded against his hip, wishing he knew what it said and terrified of the answer. It’d felt pathetic at the time, wishing for that confirmation even when dead, even when he knew it wouldn’t _matter_ anymore, because he didn’t matter anymore. If he had a soulmate out there, his soulmark was gone, erased with Shiro’s death. 

“Shiro,” Keith pleads and Shiro snaps into focus, looking at him. Keith asks, “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you hear me?” 

Shiro nods, blinking, and ignores the dull thud of his soulmark, the sluggish bleeding of his leg, the pinch in his lungs. He manages a wobbly smile and knows it isn’t satisfying, knows if anything it’s just going to upset Keith further. 

Keith frowns at him and says into his communicator, “Okay, we’re all accounted for. Injuries? Everyone okay?” 

Keith’s hand sweeps across Shiro’s cheek and down his neck, settling at his chest. Here, too, Shiro can’t really feel the touch— especially not with his heavy chestplate blocking it— but it still feels like a brand. 

Shiro tries to listen to the Paladins as they report their statuses. Lance is uninjured, but Kaltenecker is slow to rise to her feet. Allura, Coran, and Romelle are all uninjured aside from bumps on the head that could be more serious than they yet realize. Pidge rolled her ankles into a bad sprain but doesn’t think any bones broke. Hunk hit his head hard enough to bleed but is in the process of wrapping it up. 

“And Keith?” Shiro asks since no one else is asking it. 

Keith shakes his head. “I’m fine.” 

He turns his head then as the wolf flickers into the cockpit with a feeble whine, tail drooped, and one paw held up. He refuses to set it down, using his other three legs to get up into Keith’s space and lick his cheek. Keith hooks his arm around the wolf’s neck and squeezes him tight, although Shiro thinks he sees the tiniest flinch in his expression when he moves his shoulder. 

“The wolf might be injured,” Keith tells the group.

“What? Kosmo?” Lance cries, shrieky enough that Shiro nearly wants to flinch. Keith shudders at his voice as it crackles too loud in his ear. 

“ _The wolf,_ ” Keith stresses, “will be fine. He just needs to rest.” 

He rubs the wolf’s muzzle and he gives a low whine, licking Keith’s jaw again and nuzzling closer, leaning against him. Or, as Shiro suspects, giving Keith someone to lean on and hold him up, too. 

Keith turns his attention to Shiro. “Your leg.” 

Shiro breathes out. He should have guessed that Keith would notice right away. He unfolds his leg with a small cringe through the pain, stretching it out. 

“It’s just a shallow cut,” he assures Keith when he makes a sound of distress, staring down at Shiro’s leg. 

Keith gives him a sharp look and then reaches out to inspect the wound. Blood gets on his hands and Shiro doesn’t have the words to describe why that makes him feel sick to his stomach. Why he hates the image of Keith with bloodied hands. Too soon after their fight. Too soon after he nearly killed Keith. 

All of it, too soon. 

He swallows back down on the bile rising in his throat and tries to focus. “I just need a bandage.” 

Keith’s expression pinches and he sighs. He pushes at Shiro’s shoulder gently and leans him back until he’s lying out flat, staring up at Black’s ceiling. It’s a strange feeling, staring up at Keith like this. Keith is so small— Shiro’s always known that— but he’s so strong. He makes everything look easy, even pushing Shiro around. 

“Elevate it,” Keith instructs, and then scrubs his fingers through the wolf’s fur. “Hey, buddy. Stay with him, okay? I’ll go get the first aid kit.” 

The wolf whines and lowers his head, like he might insist on going instead, but he laps his tongue over Keith’s knuckles and then lies on his side next to Shiro, staring at him with an intensity that, absurdly, makes Shiro think of Keith himself. It nearly makes Shiro smile. 

Keith retreats, reporting to the Paladins. He’s gone only a short time, returning soon enough with bandages and first aid supplies. There’s the Altean salve that stops bleeding quickly, which Shiro’s thankful for as Keith smears it. 

“We should get your uniform off,” Keith mutters, but doesn’t move to remove the plating. 

“It’s fine for now. We can look at it once everybody’s back together and settled,” Shiro offers. The cool slide of Altean salve is already doing wonders for the wound, sealing it up. The pain still throbs and Shiro’s sure he’ll have difficulty walking, but as long as they’re able to recharge the Lions, it’ll be fine. 

Keith seems loathed to leave Shiro so uncared for. He wraps up his leg with bandages over his uniform and looks frustrated by it. 

“The others are okay,” Keith reports in a quiet voice. “We need to verify our coordinates and figure out the best place to rendezvous.” 

Shiro nods. He runs a palm over the wolf at his side, petting him as Keith worries his bottom lip, looking frustrated still. He takes up the last of the gauze and bandages up the wolf’s paw, murmuring soothing words when the wolf gives a low whine. 

When he’s finished, he looks at Shiro again. 

“I…” Keith begins, brow pinching, and then thinks better of whatever he’s about to say. Just another thing unsaid. He hangs his head. “I’ll check where we are. I’ll be right back.” 

Shiro watches him retreat and sighs, pressing his hand to his thigh, testing the itch of pain. It lances through him and he sighs, flopping onto his back and lying on the cold metal grating of Black’s floor. It’s still inside the cockpit, and silent. Shiro hates it. It feels too much like being dead.

The wolf breathes beside him, shifting as he senses Shiro’s distress and nosing at his hand, coaxing him for pets again. Shiro can’t help the small smile and obeys, scratching behind the wolf’s ear as he stares at the ceiling. The silky slide of the wolf’s fur is grounding. 

He’s alive. For better or for worse, he’s alive. 

-

Keith squints into the horizon, shielding his eyes with his palm as he tries to locate any other Lions in the distance. Their falls have sent them further than he’d expected. Black, at least, has left a deep gouge of a skid mark torn into the dark grey earth. They’re at the base of the mountain range and, Keith fears there’s likely more Paladins are on the other side of those foothills than not. 

Everything looks dead. Keith knows it’s just a trick of the light, maybe, or being too used to lush green planets. Even if the planet had similarities to Earth, there’s no doubt it’s an alien planet. Gravity’s just on the edge of too heavy here, making every step feel sluggish and dulled. Keith heaves a sigh, turning in a slow three-sixty, observing his surroundings and trying to make sense of it all. But no Lions, just endless grey-blue dirt. It almost looks like snow, everything cold and barren and stretching on endlessly. 

“Do any of you see anybody else?” he asks. “Anybody’s controls live?” 

There’s a chorus of nos on the second question, but Allura says, “I believe I can see Yellow.” 

“What? But I don’t see you,” Hunk says, and Keith can just imagine him squinting into the distance. It almost makes Keith smile to think of it, although a quiet sort of one— an acknowledgement that, yes, he knows these people even if he fears they don’t know him as well. 

He lets the Paladins talk, centering themselves, identifying nearby landmarks. They triangulate based off the tallest peak of the mountains they can all see, which is hardly scientific but it’s the best they can do at this time without a full map or electronic measurements. 

“Once we’re online again, we’ll be able to rendezvous more easily,” Keith acknowledges. “But we don’t know how long that’ll take.”

His head aches with quintessence. There’s a lot in the atmosphere here, and it makes him feel like a spooked cat— all his hairs knocked upright, his senses going haywire with anxiety. It rumbles through the air, the lowest layer of clouds casting the world in a dim red-purple light, blocking out the sunlight. 

Everything looks too much like marble, cold and untouched. 

“Might be a few vargas, might be longer,” Pidge pipes up. Keith can just barely make out the sound of her clicking away on a portable datascreen, one of her many. “For now, I have tentative coordinates for each of us and it looks like we’re all… a ways away. More than a day’s worth. Except Allura and Hunk.”

“Who’s the closest between all of us?” Keith asks.

“I think we’re all closest to Hunk.” 

Keith nods. “Okay. And Yellow has the most food storage… so we should be making a point to rendezvous there.” 

“Should we move, though?” Lance asks. “Aren’t you supposed to stay in the same place when you’re lost—” 

“Lance,” Allura sighs. 

“He does have a point, though,” Hunk says. “The Lions might recharge in like an hour and we’d be fine, right?”

“But if they don’t,” Allura acknowledges, “then we don’t know what the night is like on this planet, or what might be edible. We were going to conduct tests before we started eating anything here.” 

“Water might be an issue, too,” Keith answers. There’s a little lick of a river near Black, but he has no idea if the water’s going to be potable. It looks black, slicing through the slate of the earth. 

“What do you think, leader?” Lance asks, like he’s genuinely asking and like he’s genuinely going to listen to what Keith has to say. 

It’s an odd feeling. He can hear everyone go quiet, waiting for Keith’s assessment. It’s so different from before, back on the Castle of Lions, when he felt like everyone was resisting his every move. He wasn’t ready to be a leader then. He isn’t sure if he’s ready to be a leader now. 

He thinks, not for the first time: _What would Shiro do?_

That familiar warmth coils through him when he thinks of him, edged with anxiety for the wound on his leg. It’s hardly the worst injury that Shiro’s ever suffered, but it feels like yet another proof that Keith’s failed him. 

He squares his shoulders. He might have failed before, but he’s going to do his best to make it work now. 

“Pidge, who’s the furthest away?” Keith asks. 

“I think you,” Pidge answers. 

Keith nods. “Okay. We’re all going to rendezvous with Hunk and go from there. He has the food and the most supplies and water, which we’ll need in case the Lions take a while to recharge. If they wake up while we’re moving, we can call them to us and meet up that way. But we’re no good separated like this.” 

“Keith’s right,” Allura agrees, and her instant support is reassuring. 

He hears the other Paladins give their agreements. 

“We’re moving at a slow pace,” Keith instructs. “We don’t know the extent of our injuries. No risk-taking. Hunk, if you can, work with Allura to meet her, Coran, and Romelle halfway. But make sure you know exactly where you’re going so you don’t miss each other. I can see if the wolf’s up for teleporting and see if he can get us together faster. But he’s injured, too.” 

They coordinate the plans— Hunk and Allura meeting halfway, looping back around to get to Yellow in time to meet Pidge, who’ll link up with Lance on her way. That leaves only Keith and Shiro to get there, too. Keith thinks of Shiro’s leg and hesitates. They’re the furthest away, and if the wolf’s not able to teleport while injured, he’s not sure how long it might take them to get through the forest. 

“Pack whatever supplies you can carry,” Keith instructs, and climbs back down off Black’s head to reenter her through the airlock. It’s always too eerie to have her lying on her side like this— reminds him too much of all those months with Shiro _gone._

 _Dead._

Keith swallows thickly, swinging himself back into the ship and flinching as a bullet of pain slices through his shoulder. 

Shiro looks up when Keith reenters the cockpit. He’s sitting up now, the wolf’s head resting in his lap as he strokes his fingers through his thick fur and scratches behind one ear. The wolf looks up when Keith enters, too, and the two of them have a similar expression— relief to see Keith again.

Heat builds in Keith’s gut. He ignores it. He kneels in front of Shiro, smiling, “The others are okay, and we’ve got a plan to meet up.”

Shiro nods. “I didn’t doubt you’d figure something out.” 

That, too, makes Keith feel too warm— he feels his cheeks heat even as he tries to shove it all back down again. He’s used to ignoring his simmering love for Shiro; it’s inconvenient right now to focus on it too strongly when he needs to be worried about Shiro’s safety instead. 

Keith takes a deep breath, letting the comforting weight of Shiro’s scent sling around him. It’s twinged with his lingering pain but is otherwise the same comforting spice of Shiro’s essence. 

“… We’re the furthest away,” Keith says. “We can’t wait for the Lions to recharge, so we’re meeting up to pool food and shelter. But your leg—” 

“Your arm,” Shiro counters, expression neutral. 

Keith frowns. He should have guessed that Shiro would notice, no matter how out of it he’s been lately. He sighs, hanging his head. 

“I might have tweaked my shoulder a little,” Keith finally relents.

“Keith—” 

“It’s fine.” 

Shiro grunts in frustration at Keith’s dismissal. If Keith were to take a deep breath, he knows he’d smell Shiro’s displeasure, the sour twang of it lingering in the air. 

But Keith presses onward, “Can you walk?” 

“Not quickly,” Shiro admits. 

Keith frowns. “We’ve agreed to all head to Yellow, but I don’t know how fast we can move if you’re injured. And we don’t know what the terrain’s like between Hunk and us. Likely foothills.” 

Shiro nods, not looking worried. “A long hike, then.”

“But if you’re injured—” 

“It’s fine, Keith. You can go on without me and I’ll stay here with Black.” 

Shiro says it so neutrally, so easily, that Keith nearly doesn’t comprehend what Shiro’s saying. He blinks once and then feels his entire body go rigid with fear. 

“What?” Keith barks. “ _No._ I’m not leaving you here.” 

“It makes the most sense, Keith,” Shiro answers. “I can’t move quickly, so I’ll slow you down. But if I stay here, I have enough rations to last me until either my leg heals up and I can follow all of you, or the Lions wake up and you can call Black back to you.” 

“Shiro—” 

“Keith,” Shiro interrupts gently. “It makes the most sense. We can’t both stay here. And I’ll only hold you back out there.” 

“You don’t know that. We don’t know what’s out there. We could be fine.” 

“Or we could not be,” Shiro says. “I’m not going to make it harder for you. I’ll stay there.”

Keith grunts and slams down into a seated position before Shiro, glaring at him. “Then I’m staying here, too. We’ll wait for Black to wake up.” 

Shiro can be stubborn. Keith’s always known this about him. He’s seen it illustrated plenty of time. He watches a flicker of frustration cross Shiro’s serene face, seeing the moment when he wants to fight back, wants to insist. But Keith can be stubborn, too; he’s had years of experience in that and he’s not going to lose. 

Yeah, he’ll be walking slower with Shiro with him. But he’s never leaving Shiro behind again. He can’t. He _won’t._

Shiro must see it in his expression. He frowns, something flickering his eyes. His hand strays to his hip, like he’d do an arms akimbo pose if he had both of them. Keith frowns at the odd way Shiro cups his hip and worries that he might have injured that, too. But his hand drops away a moment later and Shiro hangs his head, sighing out as his shoulders slump.

“Fine,” Shiro relents. He almost sounds amused, or amazed. “When did you get so stubborn?” 

“Always,” Keith answers. He allows himself a smile, though, relieved that they’re on the same page. “Okay,” he sighs, patting his hands against his thighs, steadying his shaking hands. He didn’t expect the idea of leaving Shiro behind to spike such fear through him, but the mere idea of it leaves him feeling bereft, empty and _longing_. He swallows once, hearing a click in his throat, and steadies himself. “Come on. I want to wrap up your leg properly.” 

He stands, flinching again as his shoulder twinges with pain. He knows Shiro sees it. 

He informs the Paladins of their new plan and for them to continue as planned. Then he retreats to find more first aid supplies. 

-

_Shiro fights and he fights and he fights. He’s thrown back into his cage bloodied from his fights and he stares at the ceiling, willing the night to swallow him so he can pass out, so he can sleep. Willing the night to descend around him and let him forget everything if only for a moment._

_His soulmark aches every day. It’s a constant, thudding pain, as if it can sense how near to death Shiro is and it just keeps trying to anchor him. It used to assure him in the moment when he felt locked inside his body. Proof that he’s alive._

_Now it fills him only with coiling dread. He recognizes the language stamped on his body now. The alien race that’s captured him splays it across their walls and their technology. It screams all around him, the way they chant his new moniker. _Champion._ How they bare their teeth, ready to tear him apart. _

_And Shiro never would have guessed how much he could fight, how he could warp himself into a weapon. All for the wish to stay alive._

_It hurts to think any creature he’s fighting might be a soulmate from beyond the stars, slain by Shiro’s selfish desire to live._

_He can’t let himself think of it most nights. His soulmark aches and Shiro knows the moment it stops, the one person in the universe born for him will have died. And it’ll be his own fault._

-

Another storm sweeps in while Keith and Shiro head into Black’s cargo bay. Shiro frowns as he feels the electricity crackling in the air, the distant rumble of thunder. Keith flinches with each roll of it. It’s nothing like earth storms— every crackle is met with a slap of quintessence through his mind, mocking him, robbing him of sense. 

“Are you alright?” Shiro asks as Keith settles Shiro down on his bunk, collecting up the supplies needed to clean Shiro’s wound. As he does, Shiro tentatively starts working at his armor, unhooking and unclasping it. 

“Yeah,” Keith answers, frowning. “I just… the storms are— quintessence-y, I guess. It’s giving me a headache.”

Shiro nods, sympathetic. There’s still a lot they don’t know about Keith’s supposed quintessence sensitivity. It was Allura who noticed it first, and since then, it’s been mostly them trying to figure out what that even _means_. So far… a whole lot of headaches, it seems.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro offers. 

Keith shakes his head. “Take off your suit. I want to clean your wound.” 

Shiro hesitates. Not for getting naked in front of Keith, necessarily, but because he can feel the sting of his soulmark. It’s been acting up again, a steady pulse under his skin. 

Sometimes, if Shiro lets himself dream, he thinks that Keith could be his soulmate. He’d be stupid to _not_ have considered it— Keith is half-Galra and Shiro knows his mark’s in Galran. And he’s in love with Keith. The name etched into his skin could be Keith’s. If Shiro thinks about it too long, it makes perfect sense that it’d be Keith: he’s never felt so connected to anyone else before, after all. 

But Keith said it himself, years ago: he doesn’t have a soulmate. No soulmark. 

Sometimes, Shiro lets himself hope anyway. And then other days, he reminds himself not to be ridiculous and moony over something impossible. Just because he wants forever with Keith doesn’t mean they must be soulmates. 

Still, even if Shiro knows all this, there’s something vulnerable in showing Keith his soulmark. He’s never shown anyone, save his parents. And Adam saw it, of course, way back when. But it’d been an embarrassment— a flubbed soulmark, just a scribbly birthmark instead of a soul-connection. He hadn’t known back then. 

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks, returning with his arms full of supplies. “Do you need help?” 

He asks it kindly, like he’ll accept whatever Shiro says. Shiro’s always loved that about Keith— how Keith is fiercely protective and always ready to fight for him, even at the cost of himself, but how it never feels like coddling. Protecting Shiro has never been about shielding him but letting him be who he wants to be. 

And Keith still has no idea all the ways he’s saved Shiro. 

Shiro shakes his head. “No. No, it’s fine. I just…” 

Keith sets the supplies down beside Shiro and then reaches out to help him, stripping off his armor plates one by one and setting them aside, then helping Shiro ease off the undersuit. 

“It’s… um,” Shiro says, lying through his teeth, “a little cold?” 

Maybe Keith will think he’s just being modest about sitting fully naked, rather than hiding his soulmark. Keith gives a nod and fetches a blanket for him, draping it across his shoulders. Shiro wraps it around himself as best he can with his one arm and lifts his hips so Keith can strip off his undersuit. In its wake, Shiro lets his blanket drape over himself, pooling in his lap, covering him completely. 

He needn’t have worried, in the end. Keith’s attention is completely arrested by the wound on his leg. He first cleans away the Altean salve, all crusted up on his thigh. He moves in small little circles, inching the slick, blue paste away with the corner of a cloth. 

Once he’s finished, he applies the Altean-equivalent of antiseptic slave, cringing in sympathy when Shiro lets out a soft hiss at the sting. 

Keith wraps the bandage slowly, easing it around Shiro’s thigh with delicate care. Shiro studies Keith’s face, the set determination in his jaw, the steel of his eyes. He’s unrelenting in all things. Occasionally, Keith’s helmet crackles to life where he’s left it beside Shiro’s hip, one of the Paladins reporting in on their progress. Hunk and Allura are still vargas away from meeting up, but they’re making good progress, their journey unencumbered by any dangers or roadblocks. 

Keith pauses only to flick on the communicator and reply, encouraging and reassuring them all in turn. It’s always a little thrilling to see Keith like this, more confident in his role as leader, falling into it like he was always meant to. It warms Shiro, reassuring in its own way, stocking the embers in his heart until they flame to life. He’s always been proud of Keith— this is just another way. 

It’s suffocating sometimes, to think of how infinitely he loves Keith, how he’s always waiting, knowing that Keith is going to do something amazing. He was always amazing. He was always meant to be so. 

Sometimes he aches in the best way, knowing that he gets to see it now. 

Keith ties off the bandage expertly, not too tight but not too loose, either. Shiro breathes a sigh of relief, already feeling a little steadier. He can’t imagine he’ll be an asset for travel, but like this, it’ll be better. 

“We could stay for a few days, just to see,” Keith says, his hand resting on Shiro’s bare thigh. He looks up at Shiro, and there’s something poignant in the way he kneels between Shiro’s legs, gazing up at him like this. 

Shiro can’t let himself get distracted, but it’s impossible not to be when it’s Keith. He’s beautiful. He’s always been so. His hand is a searing mark on Shiro’s skin, even with the bandages acting as a barrier. Shiro reminds himself to breathe, that he is corporeal, that he is present and alive. 

Breathe in. Breathe back out again. 

“I’ll be okay, Keith,” Shiro murmurs, grateful that he at least sounds steadier than he feels. Keith’s eyes flick up to study him, searching for any sign of distress. 

Keith’s hand slides down over Shiro’s thigh, resting at his knee. 

“In the morning,” Keith decides. “We’ll see how you’re feeling and go from there. It’s too late to start out now. Pidge and Lance are waiting until the morning, and Allura and Hunk are going to camp in Yellow for the time being. We still don’t know what the nights here are going to be like.” 

“At least we have the wolf for warmth,” Shiro says. The wolf glances up from where he’s curled up on the other bunk, ears flicking. He lets out a soft, doggy huff and then returns to resting.

Keith’s smile is a fond little tilt in the corner. “Yeah. He’s really good at cuddling.” 

Keith stands and it’s somehow just as devastating a position as kneeling in front of Shiro. He stands in the space Shiro makes with his spread legs, his hand falling to Shiro’s shoulder, cupping the spot just before it slopes into his neck. It’s a burning touch, and Keith hovers above him, as if he might curl around him, as if he could take one step closer. Shiro could lean up and catch his mouth, or sigh his name, or cup his hip and bring him in, pressing a kiss to Keith’s belly, to the spot on his hip where his soulmark should be, too. 

Keith showed it to him once, embarrassed, brazen— daring Shiro to turn away, to be disappointed or pitying. But it’d been the first time Shiro had seen two bare hips and it’d been oddly beautiful, an expanse where anybody could be. Even then, Shiro had imagined slotting his hands over Keith’s hips and holding him tight. 

Even now, he imagines doing that, imagines cupping Keith’s hip and laying worship to his skin, pressing his lips there and whispering his name, again and again, branding him with his breath. He’d press his fingers into his skin tight enough to bruise, to spell his name with the drag of his teeth, the hush of his breath. He imagines Keith doing the same, his mouth a seal upon his heart. 

If only it were so easy. 

-

_When Keith gets sick at the Garrison, it’s the worst sickness Keith’s ever experienced. He’s gotten colds before, even the flu once or twice. But this feels cosmically worse. He feels too hot with a fever. Everything feeling too scratchy against his skin._

_He doesn’t know what to do with it and nothing helps. Water doesn’t matter. He can’t eat. He can’t sleep. He sobs into his pillow the first night, bundling blankets and pillows around him and trying to sweat the fever out._

_Shiro comes to check on him and his touch is the only thing that seems to help. He touches Keith’s forehead and frowns at how hot to the touch he is. Keith whimpers, pawing at him, trying to get him to come closer._

_Shiro holds him through the night. Keith feels like a little kid again, pathetic and needy, but Shiro doesn’t move at all. His arms are firm and sure around Keith, bundling him up and protecting him. Keith manages to sleep, his face pressed against Shiro’s neck, whimpering and snuffling through the night._

_It’s the first true kindness Keith’s felt since his father died. He feels surrounded. Protected. Cherished._

_His fever breaks in the morning._

-

Keith checks in with the Paladins throughout the evening and into the night. Allura, Coran, and Romelle meet with Hunk halfway and gather back to Yellow just as the sun is setting. Everyone’s locked away safe inside their albeit silent Lions, and it’s safer than being out in the open without proper shelter or knowing the landscape. Everyone has enough rations to last them several days, at least, although Keith doubts any of them are really getting much sleep, especially when alone in an unresponsive Lion.

The wolf tries to teleport but can’t make it too far while he’s injured. Keith tells him it’s okay to rest and with one little whine and a lick of Keith’s cheek, the wolf takes him up on the offer. He sleeps through most of the night, curled up in a tight ball on the spare bunk.

Shiro also tries to sleep, although in fits and starts. Keith privately thinks that it’s unlikely that Shiro ever sleeps well, lately. Keith isn’t sleeping much either, wanting to check in with his team and make sure everyone is okay, feeling useless and too far away and like he can’t do anything for any of them— the Paladins, the wolf, Shiro. 

He looks down at Shiro where he lies out on the bunk. Keith can’t help the indulgent way he reaches out to brush aside Shiro’s silver hair, moving it away from his forehead only for it to flop back into the spot, silky and thin to the touch. 

Shiro looks peaceful while sleeping and Keith knows that’s a hard-won moment for Shiro, knows intimately all the times Shiro’s woken himself up with nightmares or just a blind panic that he’s— _gone._

Not gone. Dead.

Rattled by the thought, Keith fumbles with his hands and lifts his communicator. “Sound off.” 

“Pidge here,” Pidge answers, sleepily. 

“Lance here,” Lance yawns. 

“Hunk wants to sleep,” Hunk grumbles, but hardly sounds acidic about it, just matter-of-fact. “Allura _is_ sleeping. Lucky.” 

“You two can sleep in shifts,” Keith offers.

“Yeah, right. Just like you’re sleeping in shifts with Shiro, right?” Hunk asks, not unkindly. 

Keith casts a glance down at Shiro as he shifts in his sleep, murmuring Keith’s name. It sends a spike of heat pulsing through Keith. 

Keith clears his throat, reaching his free hand out to tangle in Shiro’s silver hair. His undercut’s grown out. He’ll need to cut it again. Keith wonders if Shiro would let Keith do that for him. The strands of his hair slide through Keith’s fingers, silky to the touch. 

“And Romelle and Coran?” Keith asks rather than rising to Hunk’s bait. 

“Also sleeping,” Hunk sighs. “And trust me, I’m letting sleeping Alteans lie. Is that a phrase? It should be. They can shape-shift and I don’t want them to get all big and crush me for interrupting their beauty sleep. Also, Coran snores.”

“Of course he does,” Keith says sympathetically. 

“Bet Shiro doesn’t,” Lance says, because of course he does. He sounds sleepy, but there’s always time for him to hero-worship Shiro.

Shiro’s a heavy breather when he sleeps, deep pulls of air that reassure Keith that he’s alive. But of all the times he’s slept in the same room as Shiro, he’s never actually heard him snore. 

“Nah,” Keith answers. “My mom does, though.”

“She does not,” Lance says, scandalized. “She’s too beautiful to snore.” 

“Snoring has nothing to do with attractiveness,” Keith says, “and more importantly, don’t talk about my mom like that, Lance. What the hell?” 

Pidge laughs. “Lance really needs to sleep. Who knew it was possible or him to have even less of a filter when sleep deprived?” 

Lance sputters and voices some sort of protest. Pidge keeps teasing Lance and Keith can’t help his small smile. 

Shiro’s scent changes. Keith blinks and slides his eyes back to him, only to see his gunmetal eyes fixed on him. His hand is pressed to his chest, just where his heart beats, as if seeking it. 

Keith startles, setting down the communicator. In a hushed voice, he asks, “Did I wake you?” 

Shiro shakes his head, his smile sleepy, his eyes soft at the edges. “No.”

Keith bashfully withdraws his hand from Shiro’s hair, feeling his face turn pink. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Shiro answers, blinking once. “It feels nice.” 

Keith hesitates, unsure if it’s invitation or not. Shiro keeps looking at him, not looking away. They stay like that for one quiet, suspended moment. And then Shiro bites his lip and tilts his head, pointedly. 

So, carefully, Keith reaches out his hand and slides his fingers through Shiro’s hair, brushing it back from his face. Shiro closes his eyes with a sigh, leaning into the touch, and seeming to relax further. 

“Yeah,” Shiro sighs, which should _not_ sound as attractive as it does. But then, it’s Shiro. And there’s something sensual about touching his hair and hearing him speak like that, voice all wispy and satisfied. “Yeah,” Shiro says again, “it’s nice.” 

“It’s a Galra thing,” Keith tells him, scrubbing his fingers along Shiro’s scalp, feeling the delightful little shiver it pulls from Shiro. “We, um. You know. Grooming, I guess?” 

“Looking for fleas?” Shiro teases, and then cracks his eyes open, looking distressed. “Shit. That’s not rude, is it?” 

“No,” Keith assures him, laughing. “Because, uh, yeah. Kinda? Bugs and shit really love Galra fur, apparently.”

“Gross.”

“Really,” Keith agrees, playing with Shiro’s hair. “But yours is good. Flea-free, guaranteed.” 

“At least I have that going for me,” Shiro demurs. He studies Keith’s face. Then, seemingly without prompting, he adds, “You’ve really come into your own, Keith.”

“You think?” 

“Of course,” Shiro answers. “Listening to you with everyone…” He shakes his head and scoots back a little, making space. “Come here.” 

Keith breathes out, casting a glance at the communicator before picking it up and setting it aside, then lying out in the bunk, facing Shiro. They lie like that, facing one another. 

“I guess I have,” Keith says. “Two years on the whale with Mom— I dunno if it was just being near her, or accepting more what I am, but I feel… more Galra-y. And it doesn’t feel like a bad thing.” He leans in closer, like he’s sharing a secret. “I can purr.” 

“Really?” Shiro asks, undisguised in his surprise. It nearly lights up his face, a beacon in the dark.

“Mom can do it on command,” Keith confirms with a nod. “Mine’s more involuntary. Only when I’m really comfortable, I guess. But also when I’m upset? Like, as a self-soothing thing. First time I got injured on the space whale, Mom just held me and purred and it made everything feel better.” 

Shiro gives him a wan smile. “Don’t let Pidge hear you say that. She’ll start calling you a cat.” 

“I feel like a cat sometimes. Is that weird?” Keith asks, voice dropping down low despite there being no one to possibly hear his admittance. 

Shiro shakes his head. “No. I think it’s cool.” 

“Do you?” 

“Of course,” Shiro says, perfectly earnest. “You’re part alien, Keith. That’s really cool. Don’t you think it is?” 

Keith laughs, the sound startling out of him. Of course that would be Shiro’s response; he shouldn’t even be surprised. 

“When I first learned it, I definitely didn’t think so,” he confesses, smiling with only a hint of irony. “But… yeah. I think it’s kinda cool.”

Shiro hums a little, nodding his head. He looks proud of Keith and, as always, Keith never knows how to handle that expression. He’s spent his entire friendship with Shiro craving his approval. Getting it always feels like too much. 

Keith licks his lips. “I thought it’d be kinda— shitty, you know? I’m the only Galra-Human combo that I know of. At first, I hated it.” He’s quiet for just a beat, debating even admitting this next part. He swallows and manages: “Like… just another way that I’m all alone in the literal universe, you know?” 

Shiro nods again, his eyes softening with quiet sympathy. Keith appreciates that he just lets Keith speak and find his words, speaking his thoughts aloud. 

“But I guess… I don’t really think that anymore. Now it’s— I have my Mom and I have the Paladins.” He blushes. “And, um. I have you.” 

Keith holds his breath, waiting to see if he’s crossed a line by saying it like that. But Shiro’s smile is a slow unfurling, blooming in the dark. His eyes are so soft, that pretty grey that Keith can never get enough of. Nothing like the cold, dim grey world outside the Lion. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, smiling uninhibited now. “Best of both worlds.” 

Keith tangles his fingers in Shiro’s hair, pinning it away from his face. They stare into one another’s eyes. 

It’s an easy thing, to lie here with Shiro. It’s always been so easy. 

Keith sighs, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensory simplicity of Shiro’s hair woven between his fingers, the soft sound of Shiro’s breathing. Shiro’s scent radiates contentment, a quiet sort of peace— here, with Keith. Keith likes to think he’s the reason for it, that he could bring Shiro that comfort. 

It’s an instinct Keith can recognize now, with the new context of what he is: comfort, shelter, nurture. Protect. He wants to curl around Shiro and keep him safe. It’s pride that swells in his chest whenever he inhales Shiro’s scent and confirms he’s safe— that Shiro knows he’s safe, too, and that he’s safe because of Keith. 

He doesn’t know how to summon his purr, exactly, but if he lets himself relax enough, he can usually feel its beginning rumble. Sure enough, he waits long enough to feel it crackle to life in his chest. He flushes, not quite embarrassed by the sound of it, but aware that it’s the first time he’s letting anyone aside from his mom hear it. He dares to open his eyes as it radiates outward from his chest and throat. 

Shiro looks wondering as the sound washes over them, and his openly awed expression makes Keith squirm in the bed, his stomach coiling up with molten heat. He swallows, his purr stuttering a bit but persisting. 

“Wow,” Shiro whispers, as if afraid that speaking louder will make it end.

Keith swallows again, his throat impossibly dry, but manages a small smile as his. Emboldened by the reaction, he snags Shiro’s hand and brings it up to press against his chest, so Shiro can feel the vibrations. Keith closes his eyes again, wriggling against the touch. His undersuit feels too constricting, suddenly, but he pushes the thought aside. He’s not going to get hard just from a hand on his chest or seeing the obvious delight and praise in Shiro’s eyes. He’s stronger than that. 

But Shiro looks so happy. It makes Keith want to cry. 

He can’t speak while he’s purring, so he says nothing. He lets the purr fill the room and he scoots closer, seeking Shiro’s warm body, chasing that buoyant feeling of his hand against his chest. Shiro’s fingers curl and he drifts closer, too. Keith wants to be surrounded by him, wants to feel the drape of his body pressing down against his chest. 

“Healing my leg?” Shiro teases. 

Instead of stopping to answer, Keith just rolls his eyes. He knows he looks fond and Shiro’s laugh is a chuffing little breath. 

Shiro’s hand shifts on his chest, only the thin layer of his undersuit separating skin on skin. He moves his hand methodically, feeling the vibrations of his purr at different spots to compare the strength. Keith’s chest rumbles with the force of it, rattling up his throat, wanting to be good for Shiro. 

“This is amazing, Keith,” Shiro says. 

Keith wants to kiss him. Keith wants Shiro to feel the rolling thunder of his purr beneath his smiling mouth. He wants to lay worship to Shiro, for Shiro to feel the force of it all down into his very marrow— so he can never doubt what Keith would do and has done for him. 

Instead, Keith just squirms closer still, nearly pressing against Shiro fully. Just the littlest space between them now. Keith wants more. So much more. 

His purr kicks up louder in his chest when Shiro moves closer to him, too. It’s louder now, and now that it’s started, Keith can’t possibly hide it or the delight it ignites in him. It really is a soothing sound, even to him, and especially with Shiro here. 

Keith stares into Shiro’s eyes and nods his head just slightly when Shiro shifts his hand up, a question in his gaze. With that permission, Shiro slides his hand over Keith’s chest and across his collarbone and settles just at the base of his throat.

The purr rumbles up Keith’s throat and skin to skin, it’s near unbearable to have Shiro so close. Shiro looks overwhelmed by it, too, his lips slightly parted as he presses his fingers so gently against Keith’s throat. He doesn’t press too hard, doesn’t restrict any of Keith’s air. But it’s a steady weight and, if possible, Keith purrs louder. 

He knows that just a few minutes of this won’t be enough to heal Shiro’s leg, but at the very least his smile seems softer. He looks like he’s going to actually fall asleep, a rarity after he’s woken up in the night. Keith wills it so— tries to silently project sleepiness to Shiro, to coax him into resting, into healing, into being okay. Keith would do anything he could for him.

Shiro’s palm shifts, fingertips ghosting against Keith’s adam’s apple. His touch feels electric. Keith’s breath rushes out of him, his purr stuttering at the touch. He swallows and feels Shiro’s hand flex against his throat. 

Keith takes a deep breath again, purr rumbling, draping himself in Shiro’s scent. Shiro’s hand is so close against his throat. It’s almost as if, at any moment, Shiro will lean in and mark him. Keith knows he won’t— it’s a purely Galra gesture and Keith doubts Shiro even knows about it— but it sends a trickling thrill buzzing through Keith’s blood. He imagines nuzzling into Shiro’s neck, too, lapping his tongue across his skin, leaving his mark behind. 

The thought occurs to him for the first time: what Shiro’s intoxicating scent would be like twinged with Keith’s. What it would smell like to have his own scent entwined with Shiro’s. Marking Shiro as _his_ —

The force of his desire for it rockets through him, hitting him hard. It nearly startles Keith. He feels his purr dim just for one stuttering moment. 

Keith’s eyes flicker up and hold Shiro’s gaze. They stare into one another’s eyes like that, Shiro’s half-lidded and looking, for once, perfectly serene. His fingers trace the hollow of Keith’s throat and settle back at the spot just before his clavicle, where the purr rumbles loudest, vibrating against Shiro’s palm. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers sleepily, but seems just for the sake of saying Keith’s name than for any real need to communicate. He radiates contentment. 

They stay like that. Keith watches fatigue roll through Shiro. He blinks slowly, expression going lax as sleep crests over him. When Shiro’s eyes close fully and don’t open again, Keith keeps purring and holds himself absolutely still, unwilling to jolt or jar him. Shiro’s fingertips are gentle in the dip of Keith’s throat, his thumb against the jutting bone of his collar. His own silent brand against Keith’s body— always, always Shiro’s. 

Keith finds himself drifting closer, purring long after he’s sure Shiro’s asleep. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, or when he lapses into sleep, too. The world around them is cold, but Shiro feels warm beside him— and Keith feels like a furnace, radiating warmth from his core outward. He’s never felt so warm and it’s pleasant, smoldering and coiling in his gut. 

He sleeps. 

When he opens his eyes again, it’s still dark in the Lion’s cargo hold— no windows— but he can sense the difference in time. The air smells like morning, at least, when he focuses on it beyond the comforting cover of Shiro’s scent.

Keith’s eyes naturally return to Shiro, seeking him out. Keith can tell he’s awake, even with his eyes shut. A little trill of curiosity kicks up in Keith’s chest before he can swallow it down, a purely inquisitive sound.

It’s enough to goad Shiro’s eyes open, his smile warm as he finds Keith. “I’ve never heard you make that sound before.”

Keith smiles, embarrassed, his face warm. “I try to kinda… cool it on the Galra sounds.” 

“I like them,” Shiro admits. “The purring— that was really nice, Keith. It helped me sleep.”

“That was the idea,” Keith agrees, warmed at the praise. He reaches his hand out, brushing the hair away from Shiro’s face. “I’m glad you slept.”

He can smell the difference in Shiro— the gentleness of his scent, contentment and rest mixed together. There’s still the sour note of pain from his leg, but it feels muted in comparison. Shiro’s always been good at compartmentalizing, after all. 

“What else can you do that I don’t know about?” Shiro asks, just a note of teasing licking through his words. In any other context, Keith would think it’s a flirty sound— but he knows better. This is Shiro, after all. And Keith is only Keith. 

Keith’s eyes trace the long column of Shiro’s neck, imagining nuzzling against it, bathing Shiro in Keith’s scent. Now that the thought’s entered his mind, he can’t shake it loose. 

He clears his throat, trying to focus on Shiro’s question. There’s plenty of things he could say— the fact that, his entire life, he’s relied on scent to understand when people are lying to him, for one thing. Up until he met his mom, he didn’t realize that was a Galra thing. He knows Shiro already knows about how his eyes can change sometimes, his canines elongate into fangs. The purring, now. 

He’s not sure if he’s ready to tell Shiro about the scent thing. Or, even worse, the heats and all that entails. He doesn’t even know how to describe what that all means, especially in the context of how Shiro helped him at the Garrison. 

So he settles for: “I have a tail.” 

Whatever Keith could have said, that’s obviously not what Shiro expected. He makes a strangled sound, his scent flooding with surprise and shock— and something else. A spice weaves into his scent, there and gone again before it’s flooded away with amusement. 

Shiro laughs. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Keith tells him. “It’s like a bob cat’s or a Manx’s. Really short. It grew in after puberty.” 

“ _What_?” Shiro squeaks out. 

Keith shrugs, aiming for nonchalant and fighting back his amused smile at Shiro’s reaction. “Tails are a sign of sexual maturity in Galra. All of us have one, even if they’re usually small like mine.” 

Shiro gapes at Keith. “How have I never realized that?” 

Keith laughs, too, blushing. “Well, how many Galra asses are you looking at?” 

Shiro turns pink. 

Heat curls and twists in Keith’s gut, threatening to flood through his whole body. He imagines showing his tail to Shiro— a private thing, much more so considering it’d mean effectively mooning Shiro— and Keith isn’t sure why his traitorous brain summons up the image of Shiro fisting the tail in his hand and tugging. 

A small, strangled sound lodges in his throat, coming out half-purr, half-aborted yowl. Shiro blinks at him in surprise. 

“It’s embarrassing,” Keith settles, although it’s not the truth. The truth is, all he wants to do is get Shiro’s hands on him— but that’s an ever-present feeling. He’s not sure why it’s so invasive in his mind today. 

Shiro laughs, cheeks red. “Should I stop asking about it?” 

Keith shakes his head. He’s always liked that about Shiro— always asking Keith’s comfort levels, but his curiosity insatiable. Shiro’s always wanted to explore the universe, after all. He’s always loved learning new things. 

“It’s okay,” Keith elaborates, trying to focus. He takes a deep breath, just drowning in Shiro’s scent— warm, sweet, _his._. “You can ask anything, Shiro.” 

“Is it furry?” Shiro asks immediately, grinning boyishly. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. He grins when Shiro laughs again. 

“Cute,” Shiro decides. 

Keith feels his entire face turn pink. He ducks his head, burrowing towards Shiro. It brings him dangerously close to Shiro’s neck and the thought returns to him to scent Shiro, to lay claim to him. The thought’s so intense, so invasive, that it nearly steals Keith’s breath. 

He doesn’t realize he’s purring again until Shiro chuckles, rubbing Keith’s back. “Like being called cute, Keith?” 

He’s teasing him again. Keith reminds himself it’s not flirting, it’s just Shiro being friendly. But the purr rattles louder, rumbly and deep in his chest. Keith closes his eyes and inhales sharply, letting Shiro’s scent and his purr coil around himself, flushing through him in liquid heat. 

He’s glad none of the others are witness to this. He can trust Shiro with this— can trust Shiro with all sides of him, he knows. 

“Have you always been able to do that?” Shiro asks, hand pressing against Keith’s back, feeling his purr.

Keith lets the purr dim before he speaks again, voice feeling just a little thick, just a touch too hoarse. “No. I… Galra have a few rounds of puberty, so these are things that just start to develop over time, I guess.”

“Several rounds?” Shiro shudders sympathetically. “Damn. One was bad enough for me.” 

Keith laughs. “Right?”

“Guess that explains why you’re taller now and, um,” Shiro pauses and Keith smells his embarrassment in his scent when he pushes onward and says, “Stronger.” 

His hand touches Keith’s waist, fingers curling. It’s near too much. It’s suffocating. Keith can’t accept any situation where he gets hard in the bed he accidentally shared with Shiro. 

With great effort and dedication, Keith forces a laugh and then forces himself to sit up. He helps Shiro to sit upright, too, if only so he can put his hands on him. He feels flushed, but he’s used to that with Shiro. 

“How are you feeling today?” he asks Shiro, trying to focus on the matter at hand. “I need to check in with the others, see if they’re okay and when they’re heading out. And we should, too.” 

Shiro nods. “You’re right. We can’t make them all come to us just because I’m a little injured.”

Keith wants to protest that— Shiro is worth everything, after all— but he knows, objectively, he’s correct. They made the plan to rendezvous with Yellow, and at the very least they can’t keep the team waiting. 

“And I’m fine, Keith,” Shiro assures him, squeezing his waist before he seems to remember himself and lets go, his cheeks pink. “I…” He hesitates, his scent coiling up in the air. “I know I’ll need to move slow, but I also know you’re not about to leave me behind.” 

Keith understands the twisting in Shiro’s scent. He knows how hard it is for Shiro to admit weakness. He knows it’s a gift that Shiro is always willing to be vulnerable with him. 

Keith nods, hoping his smile is comforting. He touches Shiro’s shoulders, squeezing gently, and then lifts his hands to push the hair away from Shiro’s face again— just because he can. Maybe it’s too intimate a touch, but Shiro doesn’t seem to mind, his expression soft as he looks at Keith. 

“I’ll contact the others. You feel good packing up supplies?” Keith asks. With Shiro’s nod, Keith climbs out of bed and retreats, fetching his helmet and communicator. 

The wolf lifts his head to regard Keith as he passes towards the cockpit, his tail flicking. Keith gives him one long pet as he passes. 

-

_Shiro used to practice writing out his soulmark— testing it out on a piece of paper, as if putting it down in ink would make the spark of recognition, that language would follow, and he would finally understand. No clarity comes, but he gets very good at writing the name out, if it even really is a name._

-

Keith double-checks with everyone while Shiro packs up his supplies. When Keith returns, he reports that the other Paladins are fine: Yellow has Hunk, Allura, Coran, and Romelle all safely inside. Pidge’s started her journey to rendezvous with Lance before they head towards Yellow, too. Lance reports that Kaltenecker is having some trouble getting motivated to leave Red, but he’ll keep working on her— or find some food to leave for her to come back for her. 

Shiro and Keith set out with their supplies and the wolf. Their journey’s slow— Keith’s shoulder aches but is easy to ignore, he claims, but both Shiro and the wolf have injured legs that makes their movements a little jerky and slow. 

They’re looking at a few day’s journey at this rate, but there are few options. Neither Keith nor Shiro can hear Black in their mind, which isn’t a good sign for her coming back online anytime soon. 

The wolf, it seems, is still too injured to teleport far. He manages a few paces only to dart back through space-time to Keith’s side with a low, apologetic whine. 

“It’s okay, buddy,” Keith coos at him, scrubbing his fingers through his fur. 

The wolf whines again and bumps against his hip. 

“Tell me whenever either of you need to rest, okay?” Keith tells both the wolf and Shiro. 

Shiro nods, already knowing he’d push himself too far otherwise. But Keith always has an uncanny ability to tell whenever Shiro needs a rest. It seems that’s always been the case. Whenever Shiro is distressed, unhappy, or in pain, somehow Keith is always there, ready to comfort him. 

They set a course to Yellow as best they can, following the weaving line of the planet’s river as they approach the foothills. They won’t be able to climb over them, but are hoping to skirt around them as best they can, minimizing the amount of incline. It’ll make for a longer journey, but better than nothing. Once they’re higher up, too, they’ll be able to pinpoint the Lions and, hopefully, give everyone better directions for the layout of the world. 

The first few vargas of their journey are quiet— focusing on moving and setting a pace that capitalizes on their travel-time without sacrificing comfort. Shiro’s leg is feeling better today, at least. The Altean salve is numbing, in a way, and maybe it’s placebo but Keith’s purring feels like it’s helped Shiro’s leg, if not just his morale. 

It’s a pleasant enough day. A quintessence storm crackles in the distance, threatening to engulf them, but Shiro watches Keith assess their surroundings, marking out any hiding spots they can take shelter in, should they need to. Shiro’s a little intrigued by the concept of a quintessence storm. 

“Do you think it rains quintessence?” he asks Keith, breaking their long silence. 

Keith casts him a perplexed look, his eyes glittering in amusement. “What?” 

“A quintessence storm would rain quintessence, right? Do you think quintessence has a liquid state?” Shiro asks. 

“Shiro,” Keith sighs, holding back a laugh.

“You’re right,” Shiro agrees. “Guess it’s more that the rain’s infused with it. You can’t rain energy.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, but hardly seems annoyed. However, he does stop walking and turns to Shiro, leading him over towards a large outcropping of rock by the river. Apparently, Keith’s decided it’s time for a rest— having sensed, perhaps, that Shiro’s leg is starting to ache. 

Keith sets down their packs and double-checks the wolf’s bandages before he climbs up onto the tallest rock and squints into the horizon, trying to see anything Lion-related or otherwise. They’re still too low in elevation for him to get a good look, Shiro thinks, but takes a sip of water from the canteen as Keith stares. 

He cuts a striking figure. He’s handsome, standing up on the rock, little licks of wind flicking his hair around his face. The sun beats down on him and he looks like he’s posing for a promotional poster or something, one leg bent and posed as if he might leap off the rock and into the great unknown. 

He looks like bright energy, all color in a desaturated world. It really is just slabs and slabs of grey around here, everything feeling cold and barren. The river they’re following flows a deep, dark blue. Keith, in comparison, is a blazing fire against the swelling backdrop of a quintessence storm. 

Shiro squints up at him, trying to imagine what his tail looks like. It’s better to tell himself that’s what he’s doing rather than staring at Keith’s ass. The Paladin armor is skin-tight, of course, but the folds of the undersuit must obscure his tail since he can’t tell where it’d sit except in theory. 

He really is just staring at Keith’s ass, though. 

These are dangerous thoughts, because of course now he’s thinking about Keith naked and standing victoriously on a rock, and tragically, that apparently does something for Shiro. He feels warm shiver through him, imagining how far down Keith’s flush would go, what he’d look like with his body bowed, his back arching, his hair wild and in his eyes. 

Shiro turns his attention towards the wolf, taking another sip of water. He knows the wolf is intelligent, but he can’t decide if he’s just projecting when he thinks the wolf is giving him an extremely judgmental look. Maybe Shiro’s just judging himself. 

He pours out some of the water into the canteen’s cup and lets the wolf lap it up. 

A few minutes later, Keith hops back down with a shake of his head. “Still can’t see anybody, but we’re heading in the right direction… everything’s so pale, we should pick up the Lions easy enough once we’re close.”

Shiro nods. As if prompted by Keith’s words, his communicator crackles to life. 

“I think I see Red,” Pidge announces. “I think I’m still two days away but Lance, you’re by the river, right?” 

“Yep,” Lance says a moment later. Behind him, there’s the sound of crunching. “And I found some hay for Kaltenecker. I’m not sure if she’s going to be willing to come with us, so I might just have her stay in Red.” 

“How are you and Shiro doing, Keith?” Allura asks. 

“We’re making good time,” Keith assures. “We still can’t see anybody, but we’re low to the ground. We might take a more elevated route sooner. Depends on—” He pauses, looking at Shiro, and then says, “how the wolf’s feeling. He still has his bad paw.” 

Shiro breathes out, offering Keith a small smile that he returns. The others issue their sympathies to the wolf. The wolf, lying beside Shiro, gives a little thump of his tail and nudges at Shiro’s hand for more water. 

They rest there for a quarter of a varga more before Shiro insists they keep walking. They follow the flat plateau of a field, heading towards the natural footpaths in the hills left by animals. Even the grass and plants are cloud-pale, parting around their knees as they walk. It’s not a steep incline, at least, although it does put a strain on Shiro’s thighs as they move upward. They take it slow and easy. Shiro thinks Keith’s setting far too slow a pace, but he seems a little pink-cheeked as they move, so perhaps he’s feeling the fatigue of the heavier gravity, too. 

It isn’t as if anyone’s been sleeping super well, either; a long hike through unknown terrain’s hardly going to be easy with limited food and water. They have enough rations to last them a few days’ journey, but the longer they journey, the paler Keith appears. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Shiro asks him once they reach the top of the first hill. Still no sign of the other Lions, but they know Lance, at least, is by the river— and they’re heading the right way up the river. 

“Yeah,” Keith croaks, eyes flickering over Shiro before skittering away. He stares into the horizon, as if he might now see a Lion that they’ve managed to overlook. He fiddles with the straps on the pack of food he’s carrying, face flushed. “I don’t know. I guess I feel a little funny.”

Shiro reaches out his hand, touching Keith’s forehead. It’s too hard to tell with the glove on whether Keith has a fever or not, though.

“Should we stop? Set up camp?” 

Keith shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m fine, I promise.” 

Keith’s eyes look a little yellow when he peers up at Shiro, smiling slightly. It’s a strange look— but Shiro feels a shiver ripple down his spine, seeing the yellow sclera of Keith’s eyes, the slightest whisper of a slit pupil. Shiro puzzles over it, frowning. He’s only seen Keith’s transformations in higher-stress situations, but it’s feasible it might be activated by a desire to heal. He hadn’t noticed last night if, while purring, Keith’s eyes were more Galra than Human. 

“Tell me if that changes, okay?” Shiro asks gently. He can’t force Keith to share. After all, that’d just make him a hypocrite. 

Keith gives him a wan smile. “Okay.”

They eat lunch at the top of the hill and continue back down towards the river, following its weaving tail. Halfway through the afternoon, they duck beneath a large outcropping of rock when the quintessence storm sweeps in.

It moves suddenly, flaring through the air with a ripple of dark energy, pulsing purple and red. It cleaves the sky, leaving them in a strange darkness. The river reflects the swirling, roiling clouds.

And then the rain starts falling— not liquid quintessence, but certainly rain laced with the energy. Keith cringes as the storm swirls. 

“Storm heading up,” Keith tells the group. “Find cover now if you can.” 

“Got it,” Pidge says, voice crackly through the communicator. She reports finding a small groove of trees to duck within. The others retreat into their Lions and wait it out.

Keith cuddles up to Shiro as the storm sweeps in, making the softest little sound of distress as the quintessence crackles the air. Another headache, Shiro thinks. Helplessly, he curls his arm around Keith and tugs him close as the wolf flanks Keith’s other side, coiling around him protectively. They surround Keith like that, sheltering him from the storm even as Keith trembles, letting out a distressed little purr, self-soothing. 

“This sucks,” Keith whimpers.

“I know.” 

“Distract me,” Keith whispers against his neck, where he’s tucked up close, his nose pressing against his skin. Shiro hears Keith give a deep inhale and, slowly, relax his shoulders.

“How?” Shiro asks. 

This feels so much like days long passed now— a few times in the Garrison, Keith would get really sick with a fever, leaving him squirmy and delirious. It’d been the worst case of the flu Shiro had ever seen. Keith would cling to Shiro like this, craving that comfort. Shiro remembers many nights spent tucked into Keith’s bed, just holding him through the night as Keith trembled and, once, even wept for the pain of it. 

When he asked Keith if he’d ever seen a doctor about it, Keith had scoffed dismissively. Shiro couldn’t blame him for the sentiment— with his disease, he was hardly the biggest fan of the hospital or doctors and their well-meaning condescension— but even with cursory research, Shiro never found any chronic sickness that behaved as Keith’s had. 

Back then, though, Keith had asked for Shiro’s voice— stories, rambles, calculus equations. Anything. He’d longed for it, pawing at Shiro’s chest and whimpering when Shiro paused for breath, as if afraid Shiro wouldn’t speak again. 

It feels a bit like that now, too. Keith cuddles up to him, as if seeking warmth. Shiro worries he might really be getting a fever now, that despite the relative warmth in the air, Keith’s feeling chilled. He holds him a bit tighter and mourns that he has only the one arm to hold him. He presses his face into his hair, breathing in. 

“Just talk to me,” Keith murmurs, which Shiro expected. Keith’s voice ghosts across his neck, damp on his skin. 

Shiro considers and then says, in stumbly Galra, “ _I like dogs._ ” 

Keith jerks away from his neck to blink at him in surprise. The wolf looks up, too, as if he can sense that Shiro’s indirectly complimenting him.

Keith gives him a disbelieving snort of a laugh. “Wh— since when do you know Galra?” 

“That’s the only thing I can actually say,” Shiro admits, his smile crooked when Keith laughs louder.

“Of course it is,” Keith scoffs, amused, his eyes glittering. “Can you even say hello or how are you?” 

Shiro shrugs. “I used the language database on the Castle, months and months ago. I just wanted to know that line. I thought it’d be funny if I just said it to a Galra general or something one time.” 

That just makes Keith laugh more, his whole body shaking. It’s cute and Shiro’s grateful for it. The truth is, he started trying to learn Galra in a vain attempt to translate his soulmark. Now that he knows it’s Galra, of course it makes sense to try to figure out what it says. In the arena, he was terrified it was one of his captors, or another prisoner, someone he’d be forced to slay— that in the wake of it, his soulmark would never pulse with pain or pleasure again. It’d just be another dead scar on his skin. 

His efforts, of course, hadn’t gotten him far. There’d never been time to do a lot of study. And then, of course, he’d died. Hard to maintain language study in the endless void of Black’s astral plane. 

“What else do you know?” Keith asks, his mouth hinting a smile. 

“I can write a few words,” Shiro demurs. 

“Show me?” Keith asks, squirming a bit so he’s tucked up to Shiro’s side instead of pressed full bodied. It means letting go of Keith in order to write and, with deep regret, he unwinds his arm from around him.

The ground is soft beneath them, peety and springy. Shiro presses his finger into the ground and traces, making a small divot with his finger as he works his way through the symbols. There’s _vrepit sa!_ , of course, hard to avoid that one. But he also knows the words for _prepare yourself_ and _surrender_ , even if he can’t pronounce them. 

Keith watches him work, humming curiously. “Mom taught me a little,” he admits as Shiro works, “on the space whale.” 

“Yeah?” Shiro prompts.

Keith nods. The storm rumbles around them, dumping rain just beyond the lip of the rock’s outcropping. The river swirls beyond their view, visibility made murky with all the rain. 

“Just a little,” Keith says. “But we had a lot of time to spend together.” Keith smiles a little. “You’re writing it all wrong, but it looks right. If that makes sense?”

“Like the strokes for kanji,” Shiro agrees, nodding. “I figured I’d be doing it wrong. But are they readable?” 

He writes out _fight_ as Keith nods. The words spell dire warnings— surrendering, fighting, arena, hardly the most romantic of words, but it’s all Shiro can remember scrawled across the walls of his prison, that year of captivity. 

_Champion._ He knows that one. 

“Do you know any others?” Keith asks, his voice impossibly gentle— if he can read the words, undoubtedly he can guess when Shiro learned them, can see the trend and theme of the language. Keith takes a deep breath, holding still for a moment before he looks up at Shiro, staring into his eyes.

Shiro hesitates. He doesn’t know what it is that makes him want to write the soulmark down. He’s guarded it for so long, but it’s right there in front of him— if Keith knows what it says, it might shed some light. Maybe it means stars. Maybe it spells nobody. Maybe it’s Sendak, because wouldn’t that be the worst irony of Shiro’s life? Zarkon, maybe. He’d laugh so hard he’d start sobbing. But it’s better than not knowing. 

Shiro takes a deep breath, the rain raging around them, the rumble of thunder in the distance. He turns away from Keith and flashes his palm across the ground, clearing away all the words. Then, carefully, with his hand shaking, he moves his finger through the dirt. His shaking makes the mark look wobbly and uncertain, but with a deep breath, he writes out his soulmark— every loop, every curve, every sharp edge of it.

Keith is quiet once Shiro draws his hand away. He blinks once, tilts his head, giving that same little, inquisitive trill he gave this morning when they first woke up. 

“You sap,” Keith finally says, teasing, looking up at him with his face red. “When did you learn to write that?” 

Shiro blinks at him, a swell of anxiety and delight rushing through him. Keith’s expression flickers as he studies him, brow pinching, cheeks so dark they’re nearly mauve. 

“What?” Shiro asks, playing coy. His hand’s shaking. Expectation builds inside him. He needs to _hear_ it. 

“ _Kithra,_ ” Keith reads, and for one second Shiro’s heart twists up pathetically in his chest, a crushing wave of disappointment slamming through him. But then Keith translates, “My name in Galran.” 

The disappointment twists, coils, and then soars. Shiro can’t describe what he feels in this moment. He thinks the world winks out of existence— all his senses shutting down. Everything is too loud and then it is silent. 

His soulmark pulses on his hip, burning into his skin as if screaming at him. It’s never felt like this before— like it understands, too. 

He must look stunned. Keith’s brow pinches as he turns his eyes away from the mark in the dirt and stares at Shiro instead. He makes that trilling sound again, concerned, his hand lifting to touch Shiro’s cheek.

It’s like a brand, too. It’s his _soulmate_ touching him. Shiro’s long wondered, long hoped— in quiet moments, let himself entertain the thought even if he wouldn’t let himself linger on it for long, wouldn’t let himself _hope._ But he can’t deny it: his soul has always known Keith. He’s felt like he’s known Keith since the first moment he saw him, sitting at a desk and staring out a window, not paying attention to the Garrison officer in his classroom.

It feels impossibly long ago now. How could Shiro have known that day that he’d meet his soulmate, that his soulmark, scrawled across his hip, was always pointing to Keith? Even without the confirmation, Shiro’s known what Keith’s meant to him. His entire life is changed for knowing Keith. He’s a better person for knowing Keith. 

He wants, suddenly, to cry. 

Even without a soulmate, Shiro’s soul knew Keith’s. It’s why they’re best friends. It’s why Keith would scale the entire universe just to get to Shiro, to snatch him from death. It’s why Shiro’s never stopped believing in everything that Keith can do, never stopped being so thrilled to travel in his shining light. 

Shiro thinks he might have forgotten to breathe. He didn’t think it’d shock him this much, but maybe this is what it’s meant to feel like.

But just as quickly as the thought rockets through him does Shiro remind himself: Keith doesn’t have a soulmate. He told him as much ages ago and has never given any indication that Shiro’s his soulmate in turn. 

It’s an intense flux to go through— delight and agony and expectation all at once. 

Keith’s giving him as lightly bewildered expression, although it isn’t as if Shiro’s said anything aloud. Still, it must show on his face, then. Keith makes a sound, his fingertips twitching where they rest at Shiro’s jaw.

Shiro opens his mouth as if to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say. He has no idea what he can offer that could explain the sudden fracturing of his expression. 

It isn’t as if this is all new information. Shiro’s always known this— Keith is important to him and that’s never going to change. If Keith is his soulmate, a one-sided soulmate, then that changes nothing, either. He still loves Keith. He knows that Keith loves him, too, as a friend and as a brother. 

“ _Kithra,_ ” Shiro finally manages, and it feels so strange to speak it out loud, to put language and voice to the name scrawled on his hip. 

Keith sucks in a sharp breath and then lets it out in a rush. “Yeah. They. Um. Galra don’t really do the ‘ei’ sound too often. And they really like the ‘r’ sound.” 

Shiro nods, as if he’s having just a normal conversation and nothing soul-rocking and earth-shattering has happened. He’s speaking with the love of his life, but that’s what he was doing five minutes ago, too. Nothing has changed. Keith is still Keith. Shiro is still Shiro. He still loves Keith with everything that he is. 

“Do you like it?” Shiro manages to ask, congratulating himself on how even his voice sounds to his own ears.

But Keith still looks vaguely concerned on his behalf. He nods. “It’s okay. I mean. Mom makes an effort to call me ‘Keith’ but sometimes her accent comes through. But… I don’t mind it. I like it, actually. It means she’s trying.” 

Shiro laughs softly and nods, feeling overly warm, his heart all twisted up in his chest. “Keith’s a good name, too.” 

Keith laughs. “I like it.” 

“Me too.” 

They sit there in a long silence. Shiro fights the urge to trace his thumb over his soulmark, to imprint the word he already has memorized and apply it to the new pronunciation. Kithra. It’s marked on his skin. _Keith_ is marked on him. 

“Are you okay?” Keith finally asks. “You—” He pauses, awkwardly, and says, “look really out of it.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Shiro says, knowing he can’t exactly explain it. _You’re my soulmate but you’re not mine_ , feels like too much, even if it’s the truth. “Maybe the quintessence is affecting me, too.”

Keith casts a burning look towards the rain, as if he might glare at it enough to make the storm pass. It’s adorable. 

Shiro clears his throat and curls his arm around Keith again, coaxing him in close. Keith goes to him, cuddling up to him, seeking the warmth of Shiro’s body. Shiro holds him. 

“How are _you_ feeling?” Shiro asks.

Keith inhales sharply, nosing at Shiro’s neck. “Yeah… I’m. I’m okay, Shiro.” 

They hold each other like that until the storm passes, rain dripping off the rocks and the sky slowly clearing. Shiro doesn’t want to let go. 

-

They hike into the afternoon and stop well before sunset. Keith sets down their packs, feeling sweaty and overly clingy, unwilling to stray far from Shiro. They don’t have anything for a tent or camping gear, so they need to find a natural spot to stay the night. They end up finding a little cave in the foothills, nestled in the rocks and stone-face. It’s shallow, not enough to bite off any night chill, but Keith leaves Shiro to set up camp with the wolf and leaves to gather pale firewood to make a fire. 

It physically aches to be away from Shiro right now. Keith can’t figure out why now should be any different— but Keith figures it’s just a hold-over of anxiety since losing Shiro in the first place. Still, he collects firewood as quickly as he can and pauses to yank down some low-hanging fruit on the trees peppering the riverside before he returns to their little cave with a frown. 

He sets down his finds in little piles— kindling, larger pieces of wood, and the food. Shiro makes a thoughtful sound at the fruits. 

“I’m not sure if it’ll be edible,” Keith says, reluctantly. “I figured we can check with Pidge first. But it’ll be better than those unsalted pilot crackers.” 

Shiro laughs. “Everything’s better than those crackers.” 

Shiro looks up, smiling. There’s something off in his scent but Keith can’t place it— it’s been off ever since the quintessence storm. It’s too complicated for Keith to truly place it, too many emotions and scents swirled together. Whatever’s wrong with Shiro, it’s a big something. 

Now that they’re comfortably in the cave, ready for the night, Keith strips off the plating for his armor, leaving him just in his undersuit. He reaches for Shiro to help him do the same. His hand lingers on the metal plating around the remainder of his right arm and Shiro gives him a small smile in response. 

Everything feels too heightened. Keith feels itchy all over, like he’s about to start trying to claw his way out of his skin. He hears everything too closely, sight too sharpened. Shiro’s scent is overwhelming. 

Keith starts building a fire, piling the kindling in little triangles as Shiro places a circle of white stones around them, making a makeshift firepit. It’s close enough within the cave that no storm will extinguish it, but not so deep into the cave as to flood them with smoke. 

Keith uses his knife to make a few sparks until the dried wood ignites. He lets out a relieved sigh as it crackles to life. 

“Almost expected the fire to be grey, too,” Keith jokes and Shiro chuckles. 

Keith bends down and blows on the flames to coax them to life, feeling Shiro’s eyes on him the entire time. Shiro’s attention feels like a physical touch, the way he traces Keith’s face, the curve of his body. Keith isn’t sure why he’s so aware of it now, only that it’s happening. 

He sets down a larger piece of wood over the flames and leans back, satisfied that the fire’ll keep burning. He’ll need to go collect other pieces later if they want the fire to last them the night. 

In the meantime, he seizes up the communicator and signals to the Paladins. 

“Shiro and I are stopping for the night,” Keith announces. “Where are all of you?” 

“Still a day from Lance, I think,” Pidge pipes up. “But not too far out. Lance and I should probably be able to keep heading towards Yellow once I get to Red.” 

“I think I feel Yellow, too,” Hunk pipes up. “She’s really quiet, but I think she might wake up soon. Maybe. I’m not sure yet.” 

Keith nods, even though the Paladins can’t see it. “Okay, good. No unnecessary risks, though.” 

“Allura and I are gathering plenty of extra food, too,” Hunk says. “We can’t run tests just yet, but we’ve found some root vegetables and things around that the animals are eating.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Lance says, “I tried one of those fruits in the trees.” 

“ _Lance,_ ” everyone groans at once, exasperated. 

“What?” Lance protests. “I was hungry, and it looked good! And I’m fine! I ate it like twelve hours ago and I’m not dead.”

“You idiot,” Keith mutters. “Don’t just _eat random things_ without warning anyone else. What if you’d gotten sick or it was poisonous?” 

“Aww, Keith, are you worried about me?” Lance teases, although Keith thinks he detects a note of anxiety in the tone. Apparently the idiot hadn’t considered he might have unwittingly poisoned himself while alone in the wilderness with an unresponsive Red and a lackluster goddamn cow. 

“Anyway, Lance’s stupidity aside,” Pidge continues, ignoring Lance’s squawk of protest, “I have my portable scanner and I’ve checked the food, too. Did you eat the one that looks like a mini watermelon? Because that one’s fine. The ones that look like cherries should be avoided.”

Keith casts a glance at the pile of fruit he’s brought up. A few mini-watermelons and some cherries. He fists the cherry-fruits and lobs them out of their cave and down the hill. They disappear into the dark. 

“Does it really taste like watermelon?” Keith asks. Shiro hates the taste of most melons. 

“Kind of potato-y, actually,” Pidge answers. “It’s weird.” 

“Hm,” Keith mutters. He glances at Shiro and says into the communicator, “Still better than pilot crackers.”

“ _Everything_ is better than pilot crackers,” Hunk mutters. 

“Except food goo,” Lance pipes up. But Keith’s done listening to culinary suggestions from an idiot who’ll eat random fruit from a tree. 

“Okay,” Keith interrupts. “Rest up, everyone. We’ll check in with each other in the morning and go from there. Pay attention to see if your Lions start responding.” 

The Paladins murmur their assent and Keith sets down the communicator. The air is sweet with the tang of Shiro’s happiness— amusement and pride. Keith braces himself, feeling himself flush, as he turns to look at him. 

Shiro’s smiling at him, his knees tucked up towards his chest and his arm draped over his knees. He looks gentle in the firelight, his eyes glowing as he watches Keith communicate with their team. 

Keith feels all squirmy and wriggly under that look. All he wants to do is crawl into Shiro’s lap and sink into his skin. 

“What?” Keith mutters.

“Nothing,” Shiro answers, his amusement clear, saturating his scent. “Just… it’s nice. To hear you taking care of everybody.” 

“That’s— I’m hardly a good leader,” Keith dismisses, even as he feels himself glow with the praise. 

“Of course you are,” Shiro answers. “I always knew you’d be.” 

Keith ducks his head. The urge to crawl to Shiro and bite his mouth is so strong. 

To prevent himself from doing something embarrassing like licking Shiro’s neck, he seizes up the potato-watermelon and starts cutting it into pieces with his knife. The outside looks like watermelon rind, if desaturated, but the inside is a strange starchy-yellow, like potato flesh, and almost spongey to the touch.

He gives it a tentative sniff— an odd scent, like overly soggy cereal in milk— and then takes a bite. He chews thoughtfully and discerns that Pidge was correct: potato-y, but also a little bit like mushroom. Really unpleasant. But, again, better than a pilot cracker. 

“I guess,” Keith relents. “I mean… I know you always wanted this for me.” 

“You can do anything you set your mind to, Keith,” Shiro answers, voice impossibly gentle and proud. “You were always going to do amazing things.” 

Keith tosses aside a piece of the potato-watermelon that feels a little too spongey, letting it fall into the fire. It crackles and coils up, not really burning so much as smoldering. 

“Thanks, Shiro,” Keith whispers. He swallows. “Before— I mean. A lot of the time, I wondered, you know?” 

“About your abilities?” 

“Yeah,” Keith answers. “And… and whether the others would want to follow me. If I was even worthy of being followed.” 

He eats another piece, just to make sure he’s not about to break out into a rash or keel over. He avoids looking at Shiro, but still hears Shiro’s little hum.

“Keith,” Shiro offers, voice quiet. 

“I just— sometimes I wonder if they even really like me. I know you don’t need to be liked to be a leader, but…” Keith shrugs. “I know you like me. I know my mom likes me. The wolf likes me.” 

The wolf perks up at his mention and Keith casts him an indulgent smile. The wolf gives him an affectionate whine and then curls up again, licking at his wounded paw once before resting by the fire, eyes falling shut. 

Keith sighs out. “Guess that’s stupid.”

“I don’t think so,” Shiro admits. “I worry about it, too, sometimes.” 

“You?” Keith asks, incredulously. He eats one last slice of the melon-potato, just to make sure. Satisfied it isn’t about to kill him, he collects a few pieces for Shiro to eat.

“Sure,” Shiro answers. His smile is warm, if self-deprecating. “I… sometimes I don’t feel as close to people as maybe I should. And I think I do it on purpose. Just… keep people at arm’s length.”

Keith looks at him, bewildered. There’s too much space between them, suddenly— Shiro’s on the other side of the fire. Too far away. Keith takes up the bigger pieces of the melon and crawls on his knees to Shiro.

He offers the slices to Shiro. He doesn’t know what possesses him to feed it to Shiro, but he does— pressing the slice of potato-melon to Shiro’s lips. 

Shiro’s nose wrinkles at the smell but he obediently bites into it and then curls his lips around it, chewing thoughtfully. He frowns as he assesses the taste and, probably, comes to a similar conclusion to Keith. But then again, Shiro actually likes mushrooms. 

“Pretty good,” Shiro determines and smiles. “I bet you hate it, huh?” 

Keith wrinkles his nose. “Mushrooms.” 

“Yeah. Shiitake,” Shiro says with a nod. “Yum.”

“Ew.” Keith rolls his eyes fondly and offers another piece. 

He slices a few more with his knife and hand-feeds them to Shiro, pressing each piece to Shiro’s mouth and coaxing it inward. He doesn’t know why Shiro doesn’t insist on taking the pieces with his hand, but Keith can’t deny that he enjoys the act of feeding Shiro. Caring for him. 

“Shiro,” Keith says as he feeds him. “So many people respect you.” 

“Respect is different from liking, Keith,” Shiro answers and lets Keith feed him another piece. 

“I guess so,” Keith admits. 

Shiro looks happy despite the conversation, a little sleepy at the edges as he eats each piece of potato-melon, his mouth full and sweet. He licks his lips after one morsel and Keith can’t help but stare, the drag of his tongue, the swell of his bottom lip. 

Keith feels himself start to purr. He blushes as it happens, but Shiro makes no comment on it, simply eating the pieces Keith offers him. They move like that— Keith’s purr turning deeper and rumbling as he feeds Shiro, as he cares for him. Shiro looks happy, too, his scent comforted and sweet. 

Since Keith can’t speak while he’s purring, Shiro picks up the conversation in short fits, focusing more on eating than conversation. 

“Anyway,” he murmurs once he swallows one of the pieces Keith feeds him. “The Paladins love you, Keith. How could they not? It’s _you._ ” 

Keith makes a disbelieving sound around the purr. 

But Shiro is insistent. “You’re kind. You’re loyal. You’re fierce and protective and so strong… you never give up.” 

Keith wants to protest, but he also doesn’t want to stop purring. He ducks his head, though, hiding his smile and the flush of pleasure that strikes through him. 

“Anyone who thinks otherwise just doesn’t know you,” Shiro murmurs. “Once you care about someone, you never stop caring. That’s obvious.” 

Keith blushes and offers Shiro the last piece of the melon. Shiro eats it obediently, his smile slight. He licks his lips but miscalculates— his tongue dragging over Keith’s thumb. Keith’s purr cuts off abruptly as Keith gasps, just barely managing to bite the sound back. It shouldn’t affect him like this and yet it has— he feels it lance through his body. 

“Sorry,” Shiro murmurs, face red. 

“It’s— it’s okay,” Keith squeaks. He squirms on his knees, and then gives into the temptation to crawl to Shiro. 

He might actually whimper when, generously, Shiro reaches for him and draws him in close, cuddling up to him. He angles Keith’s body towards the fire, as if Keith has any issues with getting warm. 

“You really think I’m like that?” Keith asks.

“Of course. The others think so, too.”

But Keith doesn’t care what the others think. He cares about them, but his thoughts are only on Shiro now— the strength of him curled around Keith, protecting him. The luxurious drag of his scent all around him. The warmth of his smile. Precious. Infinitely precious. 

Keith bites down on his bottom lip, hesitating. 

“What is it?” Shiro prompts, because of course he’d notice. 

“You… You’re the only one I really care about,” Keith admits. “I mean, I care about them. But you’re different, Shiro. You’ve always been different.” 

“Good different?” Shiro teases. 

“Duh,” Keith mutters. Boldly, he says, “You’re the only one who matters.” 

“Wow,” Shiro murmurs.

Keith laughs. “Yeah. I mean. I… well. You know. And sometimes I wonder if—” 

He cuts the words off. He’s already confessed his love to Shiro before. No need to do it again. No need to say that, sometimes, he thinks maybe Shiro loves him back. That, sometimes, he wishes he had a soulmark, because he knows exactly whose name would be etched onto his skin.

As Shiro cuddles him, it makes Keith relax a little, even as the flood of Shiro’s scent washes over him this close, near overwhelming. Keith squeezes his eyes shut, drowning in it. It drenches around him, thick and sweet and protective. He can practically taste it— the tang of his concern for Keith, his warmth and affection. His pride. God. He’s always so proud of Keith, as if Keith’s done anything to earn that praise— but how Keith wants it. 

“You must be getting sick,” Shiro says, sympathetically. “Maybe we should go back to Black or wait for the others to come get us.” 

“No,” Keith barks, holding Shiro tight. “I promised I’d take care of you. We have to get to Yellow. We won’t have enough food if we go back.” 

Something prickles at his spine. Instinct presses him closer against Shiro, clinging. 

He can keep Shiro here. He can nurture him, keep him safe— surrounded and warm. He can go out and hunt. He can come here and cuddle up in Shiro’s lap, holding him close, feeling the steady drag of Shiro’s hand on him. He can mark this as his territory and keep Shiro here, nestled in and warm. He can be so good for Shiro. 

He can stay here with Shiro, tucked away. If he finds something softer, he can build a safe place for them to stay and heal. He can keep Shiro here and keep him warm. And more importantly, Shiro can keep holding him, protecting him, soothing him. 

“Do you really feel like the others don’t like you?” Keith asks quietly, voice muffled up against Shiro’s neck. 

Shiro sighs and Keith feels how it sinks through his whole body, the way his arm curls tighter around Keith in turn. 

“I don’t think they dislike me,” Shiro says thoughtfully. “But I think they don’t know me as well as they could. And I think maybe that’s my fault.” 

“It’s not your _fault_ ,” Keith insists. The others put Shiro on a pedestal— everyone does. Half the time when the Paladins talk about Shiro, they talk about him like he’s an idea and not a real person.

Shiro rubs Keith’s back gently, calming. Keith feels a lick of a purr slide up his throat, the touch unbearably soothing. 

“I think sometimes I let it be like that,” Shiro says. “Because it’s easier than letting people get too close.” 

Keith pulls his face away from Shiro’s neck to look at him, frowning. Shiro smiles at him gently, lifting his hand to brush the hair away from Keith’s face. He mimics how Keith’s been touching his hair, like he’s grooming him— fingers sliding carefully, pinning it away from his forehead, rubbing his thumb against his temple. 

Keith’s definitely purring now, although he hopes his face holds the questions he can’t now verbalize. Shiro smiles at him, small and indulgent. 

“We all have our walls, huh?” Shiro asks and Keith nods. “I know they care about me. I care about them. But I also know that… I’m not so easy to get to know. To really know.” 

Keith swallows down his purr. He frowns. “You haven’t told them you died.” 

Shiro’s hand stills in Keith’s hair. Then it shifts, cradling the back of Keith’s head. Shiro’s smile is a fragile thing, pained at the edges.

“Yeah.” He pauses, looking down, sighing out. “You’re the only person I’ve ever really trusted, Keith.” 

Keith knows it’s a gift. He knows it’s something that isn’t easy for Shiro to offer and he knows it’s important. Keith knows how carefully Shiro guards his heart, all his weaknesses. Keith starts purring again, leaning forward before he can stop it and nuzzling at Shiro’s neck. 

It’s an instinctive push, a drive to reassure him. He noses at the hollow of Shiro’s throat, scenting him. Shiro might not know that’s what it is, but Keith can’t resist it. Shiro takes a breath, unsure what Keith’s doing likely, but also doesn’t push him away. His fingers tangle up in Keith’s hair and cradle him close, letting Keith nuzzle against him. 

Keith presses flushed against Shiro, letting his purr rumble up through his chest, deep enough that Shiro can feel it in his chest, too. He feels Shiro inhale sharply and then hold his breath. 

The cave just smells like Shiro. Keith can’t get enough of it. It’s intoxicating. 

“They love you,” Shiro assures Keith and it’s easy for Keith to hear the words and shift them around. Keith shivers. He struggles closer, a little trill popping up his throat. 

Shiro plays with his hair, slow and soothing. 

“And you take care of them,” Shiro assures him. “I’m proud of you, Keith.”

That makes Keith tremble, pawing at Shiro, trying to get closer. He doesn’t know what’s fueling him onward— only that he needs it, needs to be as close to Shiro as possible, to smell him, to touch him, to press his scent against Shiro’s. Shiro is _his_ and he needs to lay that claim. Shiro trusts _him_. Only him. Because Keith nurtures him, because Keith can keep him safe here, because Keith wants him to always feel safe and welcome and home. 

Distantly, Keith can feel the way his thoughts are looping, the way he’s obsessing. Shiro’s scent is intoxicating. Shiro’s body is firm and sure and curled around him, housing Keith. Protecting him. Providing for him. Laying claim to him, too. Keith inhales sharply, wanting to smell the twang of his scent mixed with Shiro’s. Let everyone else know that Shiro belongs to him. 

“Keith?” Shiro asks. 

But Keith’s only half-listening, nuzzling against him. He licks Shiro’s neck and Keith feels Shiro startle, sucking in a sharp breath. That’s okay, too. Keith’s just pressing his scent against Shiro’s. He can be good. He can be a safe place, someone Shiro can trust. 

He can be good. He can provide for Shiro. He can. He can. He’ll be so good for Shiro—

For his alpha. 

-

_“Does it bother you?” Keith asks him one day._

_“What?”_

_“Not having a soulmate?” Keith elaborates._

_Shiro considers it. Once, maybe, yes, it bothered him. But since then, Shiro’s accepted it for what it is— another thing he won’t be able to have. He thinks, privately, that it’s likely good that nobody has to lose their soulmate at such a young age, as Shiro inevitably will die. Less morbidly, he thinks it’s a good thing because it means he can focus on his career without fearing someone trying to hold him back._

_“Maybe the stars are my soulmate,” Shiro decides._

_Keith wrinkles his nose, his eyes glittering like the very stars Shiro mentions, betraying his amusement. “Cheesy.”_

_Shiro laughs, because it’s what he’s always loved about Keith— how he always listens and lets Shiro set his own goals, how he’s also not afraid to tease him. Shiro knows Keith hero-worships him a little, but more and more, it feels like he and Keith are simply friends, that Keith values him for who he is rather than what he’s accomplished. And he loves that about Keith._

_Keith isn’t everything he’s done or hasn’t done. But Shiro sees all the ways Keith’s going to be amazing in the future. He can’t wait to see it, can’t wait to see all the ways Keith will shine._

_“What about you?” Shiro asks, smiling, suspecting this is the real reason Keith’s asked. “Does it bother you?”_

_He knows it does. He knows all the ways in which Keith thinks himself to be broken. Shiro only wishes he could assure him again and again, as many times as it takes, that Keith is perfect just the way he is._

_Keith kicks his feet out, knocking away a stone. They’re out on the hoverbikes today, watching the sunset, as is their tradition._

_“Not really,” Keith says, which sounds like a lie. He inhales deeply, holding his breath, his eyes flicking to Shiro and letting it back out again. “I think… I, um. I don’t know. I can make my own path, you know?”_

_“I know,” Shiro says. He reaches out, scrubbing his hand through Keith’s hair, ruffling it. Keith scoffs. Shiro laughs and says, “Keith. You can do anything.”_

-

Shiro is in agony. He’s not sure how long he’s sat like this with Keith, but it feels like forever. His heart thunders in his chest, weighed down still with the thought that, all this time, _Keith is his soulmate._

And Keith is also licking his neck. That’s new. Shiro thinks it has to be some sort of Galra-who’s-sick thing because Keith hasn’t stopped and doesn’t seem embarrassed about it, lapping at the same spots on Shiro’s neck, swiping in little kitten licks. 

It is, of course, agonizing, and it’s only because of Shiro’s supreme self-discipline that he hasn’t gotten hard because of it. The last thing he’s going to do is get hard because he can’t keep things professional when his best friend is sick and needs him. 

And then Keith makes a sound that Shiro’s never heard before— something that sounds a bit like a yowl. Deep and guttural. He pulls away from Shiro’s neck, purring ceasing, and gives Shiro a heavy look. He blinks a few times, trying to clear the fuzziness from his vision, and then with what looks like great effort, he pulls himself from Shiro’s lap.

“I can’t—” Keith begins.

Shiro blinks after him, half-reaching for him. “Keith—”

The sound of his voice makes Keith shudder. He inches closer to the fire, shivering. Shiro moves forward, on his knees, trying to reach for Keith. But Keith shies away, shaking his head.

“Fuck,” Keith says in a thready voice. “Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t notice—” 

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks, heart galloping. 

Keith groans, pressing his face into his hands, shoulders hunching up. “ _Fuck._ ” He takes a gulping breath. “I’m sick.”

Shiro’s just grateful he admits it. He nods a little, still reaching out to Keith. “Yeah. Yeah, Keith. Is it like it was in the Garrison?” 

“No,” Keith interrupts. He flinches. “I mean, yes. But.” 

“So come here,” Shiro says. “I remember. Cuddling helped, didn’t it? At least until your fever broke.” 

Keith makes an abortive sound, agonized. He drops his hands, staring at Shiro with fully slitted eyes, full Galra now. His fangs peek out from his pressed, thin lips. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, not quite scolding. He moves closer to Keith. 

Keith stares at him with wide eyes, looking like he’s about to start panting. As Shiro gets closer, he starts purring, pupils slitting further as he watches Shiro’s movements like a predator does its prey. Instead of pouncing, though, Keith shoves himself back. He trips over himself, falling onto his ass by the fire, legs splaying open in a frankly obscene position, parted and inviting. Shiro sucks in a sharp breath. 

“They weren’t illnesses, Shiro,” Keith says. He doesn’t elaborate, looking wild-eyed and like he’s about to start clawing at the ground, his fingers tensing and untensing, curling up in the dirt. 

Shiro puzzles over the words. “Then—”

“They were heats,” Keith says, staring at him. 

Shiro frowns deeper. “What?” 

“Galra thing,” Keith grits out, scrambling away from Shiro, putting himself on the other side of the fire. The wolf lifts his head as Keith gets closer, whining at him, but Keith ignores him— staring only at Shiro, his lips parted. “A Galra thing. I. Um. Some Galra go through ruts, others heats. It’s— when I was with the Blades, I got one of those illnesses and realized. They explained it. I… fuck. I’m getting one now and I didn’t even realize.” 

Shiro frowns, worried. He isn’t quite sure what Keith’s describing, only that it’s something to do with his Galra heritage. And if it’s anything like how he was in the Garrison, it’s agony— he remembers well all those times Keith just seemed overwhelmed with discomfort and pain. 

“Keith,” Shiro begins. 

“They were heats,” Keith says again, eyes widening. 

“Okay,” Shiro agrees. “Then—”

“Then,” Keith interrupts, staring at Shiro with a deep hunger. “I need to be fucked.” 

“Wh—”

“I _need_. I need. To be. Fucked,” Keith pants. And then, shockingly, rolls away from Shiro entirely— but only so he can get onto his stomach, lifting his hips, as if presenting himself. 

Shiro stops breathing. “Keith—”

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith whines, then seems to realize what he’s doing, and presses himself flat against the ground with a pained yowl. “Fuck. Don’t listen to me.” 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, moving to him again. 

Shiro’s not an idiot. He knows about the concept of a heat— not in a Galran context, but certainly in an animalistic need from some species back on Earth. It’s a little shocking to apply the logic to Keith now, but it’s there— his heightened neediness, the rasp of his voice.

A heat. In hindsight, his behavior during his sicknesses at the Garrison makes sense, too— always seeking to get closer to Shiro, squirming in his arms, whining when Shiro dared to move away. Even then, he barely seemed to help Keith.

Shiro feels his entire face heat up, his hand flying up to cover his mouth as he makes a strained, shocked sound. 

When he recovers, he manages a strained, “What do we do—” 

Keith whines, low and thready. He pushes himself up onto his knees, hunched over himself, his hair hanging in his face. “Fuck,” he pants. “I don’t know. They— god. They get worse. You know that.” 

“So I can just hold you,” Shiro offers, and feels like a creep for it. He can’t take advantage of Keith when he’s like this, after all— but something thrills inside Shiro’s heart, thinking about holding Keith close. “That helped before, didn’t it?” 

Keith gives him a wounded look. He pants a little, sweat on his brow. He whimpers. And this time, Shiro can’t resist going to him— the sound’s too soft, too needy, and he can’t ignore him. He pulls Keith in closer to him and Keith goes to him, whimpering and whining, and nuzzles against his neck, as if that might give him comfort. And maybe it does.

“Sorry,” Keith whispers, and clings to him. He squirms in Shiro’s lap, getting comfortable again, and Shiro holds his breath to keep from reacting to the feeling of Keith writhing in his lap. It’s almost too much.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “What do I do? What helps?”

“Just hold me,” Keith murmurs. “I’m— when a heat comes, we’re supposed. Ugh.” Shiro can feel the way Keith blushes. “I. Hopefully just cuddling helps.” 

So Shiro holds him, trying not to think about what Keith isn’t saying. _I need to be fucked._

It’s a little awkward, holding Keith like this, knowing the context of it all better now. He doesn’t want to take advantage. He doesn’t want to leave Keith barren and bereft, he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

“D- does it help if you talk about it?” Shiro asks. 

Keith whines. “About what?” 

“This was another thing you learned about yourself,” Shiro elaborates. “Is it— I mean. Did the Blades… help?” 

Shiro tries not to think about Keith in a heat on a Blades base, getting fucked by someone else. His soulmark throbs in agony at the very thought of it. 

But Keith shakes his head. “They offered. But I… I couldn’t.” In a little voice, he adds, “It didn’t feel right.”

Shiro nods and holds him close, fingers tangling in his hair and cradling his head. Keith gives a happy little trill and nuzzles closer, his lips pressing up against Shiro’s throat. He starts licking again and Shiro lets him, even if he thinks maybe he should stop it— if it’s something to do with a heat. 

“It’s… ugh,” Keith whispers. “It’s about feeling safe. Protected. I need— to be claimed. It’s what I want.” 

Shiro makes a mournful sound.

Keith tenses in his arms, listening, and then forces himself to relax. There’s the whisper of his fangs against Shiro’s neck, although he doesn’t bite. He pants instead, his breath moist on his neck. 

“I need an alpha,” Keith whimpers.

“A what?” 

Keith nuzzles at his neck and doesn’t answer, trilling and purring, pawing at Shiro’s shoulders. He squirms in his lap and, obscenely, throws his legs over Shiro’s, straddling him instead. He grinds down and Shiro gasps, clinging tight to Keith’s hair and jerking him back.

“Keith—” 

“Please,” Keith whispers, throaty and wild with it, his eyes dark and molten as he stares at Shiro. “It’s too much. They’re always agony. It’s been agony without you.”

“What?” Shiro squeaks.

“Every heat after the Garrison,” Keith elaborates. “Every heat without you.” 

“Keith—” 

“With the Blades, it was agony. On the space whale, it was agony. I need you.” 

“ _Keith—_ ” 

“ _Alpha,_ ” Keith whispers, begging now, and rolls his hips down. Shiro gasps as he feels the hard press of Keith’s cock against his stomach, even through their undersuits. Keith paws at his suit, trying to strip down right there in front of Shiro. 

“Keith, I’m not—” 

Keith stops pawing at himself to grip Shiro’s face instead, the touch possessive and forceful. “Alpha,” Keith coos, sounding just on the edge of mindless. His eyes swirl with desire and hunger, staring straight into Shiro’s core. “You’re my alpha.” 

“I’m human, Keith,” Shiro tells him, gently. “I don’t know what a Galra alpha is.” 

Keith makes a mournful sound and rubs down against Shiro’s crotch. Shiro bites back a groan as, betrayingly, his cock responds, twitching where it presses against Keith’s ass as Keith relentlessly grinds himself down against Shiro. 

“I need your knot,” Keith whispers. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, touching Keith’s hip. 

Keith gives a pleased keen at the touch, squirming closer. Shiro swallows and Keith clasps his mouth around his adam’s apple to feel the bob of it, humming happily. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. “I’m human, remember? I’m not an alpha. I don’t have a knot. Is that what you need? Because I can’t—” 

Keith pulls back, staring at him with wide eyes. “You don’t want me?” 

“Keith,” Shiro begs, strained. He can’t answer that question. Not in honesty. But he can’t lie, either. He stares at Keith, begging him to understand. 

But Keith looks mindless with a deep hunger— this heat's hitting him harder than Shiro's ever seen before. This is nothing like at the Garrison, where yeah, Keith got needy, but not enough to start begging for sex. Or, well, for a knot. 

“You’re my alpha,” Keith tells him. “You’ve always been my alpha, Shiro. I chose you. You’re _mine._ ” 

The fire crackles behind them, flickering and burning around Keith’s outline, making him look smoldering and ethereal. In the distance, Shiro hears the distant crack and rumble of thunder as another quintessence storm rolls in. 

“I need you,” Keith whispers. He cups Shiro’s face and Shiro is weak to resist, staring up at Keith as he squirms in his lap, lifting himself up onto his knees to stare down at Shiro. His fingers trace Shiro’s cheeks, his thumbs pressing against his bottom lip. “Shiro,” Keith purrs. “I need you. All you have to do is fuck me once and I’ll be better. I’ll be so good, Shiro. Alpha. I promise. I’ll be so good for you.” 

“Keith,” Shiro groans, his heart plummeting into his chest. He has no idea how much this heat is influencing Keith. “Before, your fever would break.” 

“It hurts,” Keith whispers. He pets Shiro’s face. “I want you so much, Shiro. Don’t you want me, too?” 

Shiro can’t lie. He has a feeling Keith would know if he’s lying, anyway— Keith’s always too good at telling that. “Of course I do.” 

Keith looks thrilled at the admittance. He perks up immediately, his eyes brightening, his lips quirking up into a triumphant smile. “ _Alpha,_ ” Keith sighs, pleased. He squirms in Shiro’s lap. “Fuck me?” 

Shiro doesn’t know what to say.

His lack of immediate answer fuels Keith onward. He gives a little whimper, writhing in Shiro’s lap, coaxing him to full hardness with just the swivel of his hips. 

“You don’t have to fuck me right away if you don’t want,” Keith coos. “I can suck you up. You can just let me touch you, Alpha.” 

Keith’s flushed, fully red-cheeked as he grinds against Shiro. He takes Shiro’s hesitancy as invitation to entice. He reaches behind himself and unzips his undersuit, exposing his body inch by inch. 

“You can see my tail,” Keith whispers. “Don’t you want to see it?”

“Keith!” Shiro gasps as Keith wriggles out of his suit, exposing his chest— the blush creeping down his cheeks and over his neck, flushed across his chest, accenting his pink nipples. “Keith,” Shiro groans. “Do you really want this? I can’t—” 

“Just you, always just you,” Keith whispers. He pets Shiro’s face. “I tried with the Blades, but I couldn’t. They weren’t you. None of them were you. It was always going to be you, Shiro.” 

He doesn’t wait for Shiro to answer. He shoves himself out of Shiro’s lap enough to strip his suit down. He can’t even manage to get it all the way off, just dropping it down over his ass and stopping at his thighs, all tangled up in it. But he rolls onto his hands and knees and presents himself and— there’s his tail, fuzzy and cute and lifted up to expose his ass. 

Keith reaches behind him and pulls one cheek aside, exposing his hole— slick already. Another Galra thing, Shiro thinks, and sucks in a sharp breath as he feels his body course with desire. 

He thinks of what Keith said before, before the heat set in: _You’re the only one who matters—_

Shiro swallows. He wants to trust Keith— that he wants this, that it’s something he’s always wanted. Keith’s never been one to say something he doesn’t mean, after all. 

_It’s always been you._

“If I help you,” Shiro whispers, his heart thundering, hating to think he’s only agreeing because he wants to take advantage, that, secretly, he really is that terrible of a person. But Keith keens, looking at him so hopefully, twisting around so he’s facing him, knees tucked beneath him. Shiro tries very hard not to look at the hard line of Keith’s cock. “If I help you,” Shiro says again, “it’ll break your heat?”

“I just need to get fucked once,” Keith murmurs. “You don’t even have to prep me, Shiro. You can just slip in. I was made for you.” 

Shiro ducks his head, groaning. He shakes, but Keith reaches for him, petting his face and his hair, pushing it back. He coos at Shiro and then starts purring, rattling and loud. 

“Fuck me, Shiro,” Keith begs around his purr, letting it stop to speak only to kick it back up again. 

He grabs Shiro by his undersuit and zips it down, shrugging him out of his suit enough to expose the hard plane of his chest, his stomach. Shiro sucks in a sharp breath as Keith’s hand ghosts his hips, but he’s not paying attention to that. Keith turns away, exposing himself again. He tips his hips up, gripping his cheeks and spreading them.

“Touch me,” Keith begs. 

Shiro does. He slides his fingers over the cleft of Keith’s ass, his fingers coming away slick. Keith mewls, wriggling his hips back and spreading his legs. 

“Fuck me,” Keith whimpers. 

Shiro swallows, tugging down his undersuit over his thighs— he feels exposed, his soulmark just _right there_ , if only Keith would turn his head. Guilt lances through him. 

He strokes his fingers over Keith’s hole. Keith wriggles his hips. 

“Your cock,” Keith moans. “Please.” 

If it were an ideal situation, Shiro would finger Keith open slowly. He’d lay worship to every inch of Keith’s skin. He’d tell him all the things he’s wanted to tell him for years— that he’s beautiful, that he loves him, that he’s precious, that he was born to meet him, that he loves to look into his eyes, to feel his hair, to hold him close.

“Alpha!” Keith yowls. 

He reaches back and fists Shiro’s cock. He gives a delighted trill when he does, his hand stroking from tip to root and Shiro groans, rocking forward. He knows he’s big and he thinks Keith must love that, his smile growing as he ducks his head and tugs Shiro in closer cock-first. He presses the head against his hole, dripping and slick. 

“Just fuck me.” 

“I should—” 

Keith growls and rocks his hips back, letting the tip of him slip inside. Shiro gasps, his hand flying up to grip Keith hard by the hip. 

Keith gives a triumphant little purr and rocks his hips back, spreading his legs as wide as he can manage while still tangled up in his suit. And he’s so desperate. But so beautiful. Shiro can’t help but think it as Keith rubs against Shiro’s cockhead, coaxing his hips back. He sinks down against Shiro’s cock easily, like he was made for him, his body so slick and so open just from that. He clenches around Shiro’s cock and he’s so _tight_. 

Shiro trembles. Existing in this body is already so overwhelming, and this threatens to undo him. Keith is so tight, so slick, so warm. Shiro’s knees ache as they dig into the stone and dirt of the cave. His leg twinges with pain, his injury making the position awkward— and Keith’s shoulder must ache, too. The air crackles with electricity as the storm sweeps in, but Shiro can barely hear it over Keith’s panting and moans.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps. “Shiro, yes, Shiro—” 

And then he stops speaking, dropping onto his elbows and shoving his ass back against Shiro, sinking onto his cock, burying him inside up to the hilt. He starts purring instead, a rumbling, rolling thunder straight from his chest. He looks so pleased when he looks over his shoulder at Shiro, as if to confirm it’s Shiro inside him. 

Keith opens his mouth as if to speak, but he can’t. He just stares at Shiro like him merely existing is amazing enough on its own. His purr is the loudest Shiro’s ever heard it, sated and pleased and victorious. 

“Good boy,” Keith growls and then fucks his hips back. 

Shiro groans and jerks his hips forward. He fucks into Keith, following the relentless pace Keith sets for him, fueled on by some primal heat. Keith drips all around him, slick slipping out of him and around Shiro’s cock, slinking down his legs, leaving him messy and exposed. 

“Need your knot,” Keith grunts as he rolls his hips back. Shiro presses his hand down into the small of Keith’s back, keeping him in position as he fucks into his ass, held up in the air and presented to him, just for him. “Alpha— pull my tail.” 

Shiro grunts, looking down at the tail. It flicks up, exposing Keith further, and looks the perfect size for his palm. And Shiro’s never been one to ignore Keith’s requests. He fists Keith’s tail. It’s soft to the touch and flicks in his hand until Shiro grips it tight and pulls. 

Keith gives a pleased mewl, arching a little and shuddering. He squeezes around Shiro’s cock which is _torture_. Shiro ducks his head, moaning, and rocks forward. He times his thrusts with the tug on the tail, pulling out as he tugs, squeezing as he pushes back in. 

Keith gives a pleased whimper, rolling his hips to meet Shiro’s movements, fueled on by some instinctive need to get fucked, to have Shiro in deeper, to guide him in and squeeze around him. He’s so slick, so wet, so ready for Shiro. It’s overwhelming. 

“Shiro,” Keith moans, guttural and needy. “Come inside me, Shiro. Alpha. Please—”

Shiro wants to obey. He fucks harder and harder into Keith, their bodies rocking together. He lets go of Keith’s tail only so he can drape over his back, pressing against him, wrapping his arm around him. Keith seems to love that, giving another trill and arching up.

“You’re so big, Alpha,” Keith sighs, fucking back against his cock. “Shiro—” 

Shiro presses a kiss to the back of his neck, moaning weakly as he thrusts inside Keith, guided by the slick heat of him, seeking his prostate. He thinks he finds it after a few angles of his hips because Keith shudders full-bodied and yowls. 

His face is fully transformed now, all fangs and burning purple-gold eyes. He pants, writhing in Shiro’s hold. He squeezes around Shiro’s cock, sucking him in deeper, pressing his hips back and taking all of him like it's easy. The stretch is obscene. When Shiro glances down, watching his cock disappear inside Keith’s small body, he can’t believe how easily and how well he takes it. Keith shudders apart in his hold. 

Keith claws at the ground, squirming, wriggling against him, his cock throbbing red-purple against his stomach where it presses, neglected, in favor of milking the cock inside him. Keith whimpers, trilling and mewling. 

“Shiro,” Keith cries. 

It takes only a few more strokes before Shiro tenses, feeling his orgasm cresting over him. He whispers a warning into Keith’s ear and Keith moans his encouragement, fucking back in earnest until, finally, Shiro tenses and comes. He spills his seed inside Keith, filling him. 

Keith trills in victory, wriggling in Shiro’s hold as Shiro drapes against his back, holding his trembling body up against his. His hand presses up against Keith’s belly, feeling the flex of it, how small it feels beneath his palm. He wishes he had his other hand so he could touch Keith properly, so he could lay worship to Keith the way he deserves. 

“Need your knot,” Keith whimpers. 

Shiro presses an apologetic kiss against the nape of Keith’s neck. He hates the idea of some random Galra alpha taking care of Keith instead— it’s better that it’s him, it’s better that it’s someone who can take care of him, protect him, make sure he’s okay. 

The air in the cave feels too thick, heavy with the scent of sex and the crackling, electrified scent of quintessence. As Shiro inhales deep, he feels warmth tingle through him, as if he might absorb Keith’s heat sickness into himself. Maybe the Galra have sex pheromones, too— literally nothing else could surprise him today. 

Keith slumps after a moment, wriggling his hips and milking around Shiro’s flagging cock. He mewls sadly when Shiro hesitates and then withdraws. 

“No,” Keith whispers, reaching back and grabbing at Shiro’s hip. “Not enough.” 

Shiro frowns and then, gently, pushes his fingers inside Keith. That seems to satisfy him. His back arches and he gives a soft sigh of pleasure that tapers off into a purr. He says nothing for a moment, just purring and squeezing his body around Shiro’s three fingers, buried up to his knuckles easily. 

“Did that help?” Shiro asks, kneeling behind Keith and staring at the way his hole flutters, swallowing around him like he’s searching for more. His come leaks out of him and around his fingers, sliding down his legs along with his slick. 

It’s an obscene sight that goes straight to Shiro’s cock. It twitches despite just coming and Shiro bites his lip, heat flushing through him. He wonders if Keith’s heat is contagious, if somehow he might be affected, too. 

He moves closer, ducking down to press a kiss against Keith’s spine, mouthing down the length of him and pressing a kiss just at the spot where his spine extends into his short little tail. Keith whines, squirming.

“Feels good, Alpha,” Keith whispers, sounding dreamy. 

Shiro does it again and twists his fingers inside Keith. There’s the squelch of his slick and Shiro’s come and Keith gives a pleased whimper. 

“Should I touch you?” Shiro asks. “Help you get off?”

Keith shakes his head, inching his hips back against Shiro’s fingers. “Fuck me again. Fill me.” 

Shiro nods and obeys. He’ll need a moment if he wants to get hard again, but for now he can focus on his hand. He spreads his fingers inside Keith and sets a steady pace, fucking in and back out again. Keith gives a helpless, happy little keen, fucking himself on Shiro’s hand. 

Keith looks so small, yet powerful, his body bowing and pushing back, the thickness of Shiro’s fingers disappearing inside his hole, puffy and red from the earlier attention. He’s slick inside and Shiro strokes his fingers, petting him. It makes Keith start purring again, come and slick leaking out around Shiro’s fingers. 

“Good, Keith, good,” Shiro whispers, remembering what Keith said. _I’ll be good, Shiro._ It’s the right thing to say. Keith cries out weakly, arching. Shiro smiles, helpless and overwhelmed with love. “You’re so good, Keith. You’re doing so well. Look at how well you take me.”

Keith claws at the ground, nodding his head, rocking back a little desperately. “I’m good, Alpha.”

“So good,” Shiro assures him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then the curve of his jaw. Keith cries out and tilts his head back, exposing his neck.

Taking the hint, Shiro leans in, mimicking Keith’s earlier attentions to Shiro, nuzzling at the column of Keith’s neck, dragging his tongue up along it and suctioning his mouth, suckling a mark into his skin.

Keith mewls. “Higher.” 

Shiro obeys him, fucking his fingers inside Keith and pressing his mouth higher on his neck, taking Keith’s directions until he’s nibbling and licking at one particular spot that seems to drive Keith wild.

“Wanna smell like you,” Keith whimpers. “Want to smell me on you.” 

Shiro coos at him, gently, shushing and soothing. “You will, baby. You’re doing well.” 

The endearment slips out of him, but Keith seems to like it, giving a little cry and rocking his hips back against Shiro’s fingers. 

“Baby,” Shiro says again, testing it. Keith trills. 

Shiro fucks his fingers inside Keith like that, murmuring praise into his ear. Keith keeps clawing at the ground, rocking his hips back. And then, as Shiro strokes over his prostate with each upstroke, he feels Keith start to tremble, relentless in his pursuit to feel Shiro all around him. He rocks brutally against Shiro, making his fingers stroke hard against his prostate. 

With one low, guttural cry, Keith comes without a hand on his cock, fucking forward. Shiro only knows he’s coming because he can feel the way he clenches up, the way he trembles and then shudders apart, crying out Shiro’s name and then slumping. 

His chest hits the ground, ass in the air, and he whimpers, rolling his hips as he tries to coax Shiro in deeper. 

“Don’t pull away, Alpha,” Keith whimpers, and Shiro obeys him. He keeps his fingers stuffed inside Keith.

Keith garbles out something nonverbal, squirming around Shiro’s fingers. It doesn’t seem to be anything fueled on by oversensitivity, though, but rather just trying to feel all of Shiro. 

Shiro presses a soft kiss to Keith’s shoulder, lingering close and nuzzling. “Keith.” 

“Shiro,” Keith sighs in answer. “Oh, Shiro…” 

“Did that help?” Shiro asks, cautiously, afraid to ask, afraid that Keith will turn his head and look at Shiro only in disgust. His soulmark pulses against his hip. 

Keith does turn his head, but only to regard Shiro with a look full of longing and desire, his eyes molten and glowing in the dark. “Shiro,” he whimpers again. “My alpha.” 

Shiro wants to kiss him. He realizes he hasn’t yet, but the angle’s all wrong. He makes a mournful sound before he can swallow it back, but finds himself nodding. 

The confirmation from Shiro seems to thrill Keith, though. His eyes light up and his face splits into a delighted grin. He wriggles his hips, clenching around Shiro’s fingers. 

“My alpha,” Keith says again, more confidently. 

“Yeah, baby,” Shiro murmurs. 

Keith’s purr startles to life again, rumbling and deep and satisfied. He doesn’t speak for a long while, just rolling his hips back against Shiro’s fingers. More slick gushes out of him, making the movement frictionless, even though Keith’s still so tight, so beautifully clenched around Shiro’s fingers. 

He’s so small. Shiro watches his fingers disappear inside Keith and wishes he could watch his cock disappear inside that tight hole. His cock twitches, half-hard. It won’t be long now before he can cajole himself into getting hard again. 

He fucks back inside Keith with his fingers, whispering praise against his shoulder. Keith groans weakly, rocking his hips back. He curls his fingers in the dirt and spreads his legs wider, straining against his undersuit. They should undress properly, Shiro thinks, but that means pulling out of Keith and Keith seems loathed for that, just wanting to be full. 

Every moan Keith makes goes straight to Shiro’s cock. Keith starts to tremble, his body flexing and rocking, his hole clenching around Shiro’s fingers. 

“Feeling better, baby?” Shiro asks. 

Keith nods his head. “This helps, Alpha.” 

Shiro grunts, flushing at the name again— it seems Keith’s heat isn’t broken yet. He sounds out of it, fucked-out but still wanting more. He’s still slick around Shiro’s fingers. He strokes inward, seeking his prostate and massaging against it just to hear Keith’s garbled moan. 

Keith whines, pressing his face down into his arms. He wriggles his hips, his thighs tensing and his hole squeezing around his fingers as he fucks back. He moans again, louder this time as Shiro strokes over his prostate. 

He feels himself getting hard again, fueled on by the mewls Keith makes, but that isn’t his focus. He strokes into Keith and smiles a little when Keith rocks back against his hand. He presses a kiss to his neck again, nuzzling just as he felt Keith do to him. Keith makes a happy sound before he moans. Shiro tucks his nose against Keith’s throat, licking gently at the spot he’s marked before. Keith smells like sex and sweat and it’s intoxicating. 

Keith’s hand scrambles back, touching Shiro’s hand, fingers ghosting the spot where Shiro’s fingers disappear inside Keith’s body, slick and open to him. 

“Want more,” Keith whimpers. 

“I know,” Shiro shushes, licking his jaw. He thinks he’s nearly hard enough. He fingers over Keith’s prostate, smiling when Keith shudders.

“Fuck, Alpha,” Keith sighs. “Shiro…” He wriggles his hips. “Your hand’s so big. I’ve always thought it.”

That makes Shiro pause, his eyes widening. He nuzzles at Keith’s jaw. Whispering, breathless, he asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith sighs, fucking back on Shiro’s fingers. He twines his fingers tight around Shiro’s wrist, setting the pace for him. “So big. Always thought about how it’d feel.”

“Is it like you thought?” Shiro asks, breathless.

“Mm,” Keith whimpers, rolling his hips in little circles. “Bigger.” 

Shiro smiles, helplessly, warmth flooding in his chest. He nuzzles at Keith’s shoulder and then the back of his neck, nosing into his hair. He pants a little, pressing his body up against Keith’s, molding the two of them together. Keith sighs out, as if that’s all he’s wanted, too. 

“Am I good?” Keith whimpers.

“So good, Keith,” Shiro assures him, gently. He twists his fingers and Keith’s breath hitches softly, goes breathless and still beneath him. He squeezes around Shiro’s fingers. “Baby,” Shiro murmurs against the shell of his ear. “You feel so good. You’re doing so good.”

“I’m good for you, Alpha,” Keith promises, trembling. He swallows thickly, his voice a garbled mess of purr, moan, and gravel. “Please. Please, fuck me again. I need you. Only you.” 

Shiro makes a soft sound, breathless, and mournfully pulls his fingers out of Keith. Keith trembles and cries out at the emptiness of it. Shiro wants to strip them down properly, wants to lie Keith out on the ground and take him gently. He hates the distance between them, how even in the warm cave the air feels too cold when he’s separated from Keith. 

Keith isn’t having it, either. He looks over his shoulder and fists Shiro’s cock, stroking over it. He purrs happily, his fang poking out as he smiles. 

“Bigger,” Keith sighs. “Come here.” 

“Keith,” Shiro coaxes gently, rocking into Keith’s hand. “Are you comfortable like that? Can I—” 

He only has the one arm but he manages to coil it around Keith and pick him up. Keith gives a delighted little squeak, twisting in Shiro’s hold and blinking at him. He looks delighted as Shiro pulls him into his lap, dropping his hand to strip off Keith’s undersuit completely until he’s naked and splayed in his lap.

Keith purrs happily, looking triumphant as he settles across Shiro’s legs, his eyes half-lidded as he stares into Shiro’s. Shiro wriggles beneath him, pulling off his undersuit with some effort, with only his one hand. When he’s finished, he presses his hand tight against the small of Keith’s back, fingertip ghosting across his tail. 

Keith shivers happily, purring up a storm. He leans in and nuzzles at Shiro’s jaw. “Shiro.” 

Keith starts rutting against him, his cock hard again— so soon, Shiro marvels— and seeking friction against Shiro’s exposed ribs. He doesn’t look down, just staring at Shiro with open longing. It’s somehow too real to stare into Keith’s face like this, to have him so close.

“So strong, Alpha,” Keith coos. 

He rolls his hips down, slick and wet, Shiro’s cock sliding against the cleft of his ass without entering, just rocking against his body. Shiro hums quietly, soothing, his hand running up Keith’s back. 

Keith arches with a pleased sigh, trembling. “Shiro…” 

“Yeah, Keith,” Shiro whispers, breathless and overwhelmed. 

All he wants to do is kiss Keith, but he doesn’t know if that’d be too much. He pants a little as Keith ruts against his cock and bites his ear, whimpering against him, his purr rumbling up his chest. 

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, his fingers dragging over Keith’s spine, thumbing over his tail, and dipping lower. 

He presses two fingers inside him easily, pulling him open as his cock slips against his hole. His cockhead catches on the rim, tugging almost playfully, and Keith yowls. 

Keith starts rutting against him in earnest as Shiro’s cock slides home again, filling Keith easily— slicked with Keith’s natural wetness from his heat and the remnants of Shiro’s come not yet leaked out. Keith whimpers, grinding down against Shiro’s lap, his ass plush and sweet in Shiro’s palm as he cups him, guiding him up and dropping him back down onto his cock. 

Shiro’s panting, sweating a little from the effort of not coming instantly. Keith is a tight vice around his cock, coaxing him closer and closer, like all he wants is to be _filled._

“Let me hear you,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith obeys him. He throws his head back and moans, his hands clinging to Shiro’s shoulders, trying to gain leverage and fuck down on his thick cock. 

“Deep,” Keith whines. “Alpha.” 

He’s practically nonverbal, just words slipping out— all praise, all requests. Fuck him harder. Fuck him deeper. Fill him. Alpha. Alpha. Keith sobs out the words, his body twitching and shuddering through his pleasure. Shiro wishes he had more ways to touch him, wishes he could do more. 

He fucks up into Keith, the path made easy. Keith clings to him, secure and upright and mewling for him. He whimpers, panting, writhing in Shiro’s hold. He presses his face into Shiro’s neck and licks and bites over Shiro’s skin. Shiro won’t be surprised if, come morning, he’s bruised and mauled from Keith’s attentions. The bite of his fangs is a pleasant sting, painful but good. 

Shiro slows his pace, or tries to, tries to make each thrust deep and full, grinding Keith down against him. Keith whimpers and licks Shiro’s throat, groaning. 

“ _Shiro,_ ” Keith sobs. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Shiro whispers in Keith’s ear, feeling him shudder. “You feel so good. You’re moving so good. You’re so _tight._ Does it feel good, baby?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Keith sobs again, voice cracking. 

Shiro runs his hand up Keith’s back, petting him, feeling the beginning rumbles of a purr. He whimpers when Shiro touches him. “You’re letting me take care of you, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Keith whines. He writhes in Shiro’s hold, grinding down on his cock. “Take care of me so good.” 

“So good,” Shiro whispers, his heart in his throat. All he’s ever wanted to do is take care of Keith, the way Keith always takes care of him. “You take me so well, Keith.”

“Was made to take you,” Keith whimpers. “Chose you.” 

Shiro shushes him gently when Keith starts to whine, clawing at his shoulders, trying to get Shiro to move faster, harder. But Shiro keeps his thrusts slow and deep— he wants to last, wants to make sure Keith knows he’s precious. All that matters is Keith— protecting him, making him feel good. 

His body burns, fueled on by some metaphorical heat or literal heat, he isn’t sure. His leg _aches_ and he worries about ripping his wound open, if the tangy scent of blood will make Keith lose all sense. 

“Keep going,” Keith sobs, writhing. “Alpha, please. I’ll be good—” 

“You’re so good,” Shiro vows.

Keith whimpers, rocking his hips down, just on the edge of his control. He grasps at Shiro, sobbing out moans and begging for more, slamming his hips down. Pain sparks in Shiro’s leg, but he ignores it, clinging to Keith, guiding him down. 

Shiro’s hand drops to Keith’s ass, squeezing one cheek, lifting him and pulling him back down again. Keith sobs, shaking apart against Shiro. He’s just about to come. Shiro can feel it this time, the way it crests and builds inside him, how desperate his moans become, how his thighs shake as he tries to take control and Shiro won’t let him. 

He’s so small, but so strong. His abs flex, his hips roll, his hair falls in his eyes. He’s the prettiest thing Shiro’s ever seen, the best thing he’s ever heard, just _perfect_. His soulmate. The one person meant for Shiro—

Shiro can’t stop his little, strangled cry as Keith slams his hips down and rolls against his cock, deep inside him, buried to the hilt. Keith’s mouth falls open, a strangled moan pushing out of him as he comes. 

This time, Shiro gets to watch him, the way his face ripples, the way his come streaks shiny over his chest and stomach.

The way Keith throws his head back, body arching, and sobs, “ _Fuck, I love you, Shiro!_ ” 

Shiro freezes up, the breath punching out of his lungs. He comes so hard that he loses all of his senses— the world turns white and then black, and he clenches his eyes shut and lurches forward, fucking hard into Keith as he Keith squeezes around him. He breaks out a little sob and hides his face against Keith’s shoulder, thrusting into him, emptying inside him.

If Keith’s aware of what he’s just said, he gives no indication. He just sighs and moans, pleasure fizzling between them as he rides Shiro through his orgasm, the both of them sweaty and sticky and slicked. 

Keith is a smoldering fire in his lap, leaning against him, nuzzling into his hair with an affectionate purr. But all Shiro wants to do is sob into Keith’s skin, to worship him, to cry the words back. 

_I love you._

How many times has Keith told him now? It makes Shiro start trembling. Keith curls his arms around Shiro, purring and biting his ear, riding him out until he’s sated, until Shiro’s emptied his come inside Keith’s willing, open body. 

Keith nuzzles against Shiro sleepily. He feels less heated in Shiro’s lap, like maybe his fever has finally broken. Shiro stays buried inside Keith, gulping down air, his body trembling apart.

“Keith?” he whispers, his voice cracking. 

“Mmm,” Keith hums, barely responsive. He bites Shiro’s neck, hard enough to sting but not break skin. “Shiro…” 

He sounds a little more like himself and Shiro holds his breath, waiting, waiting for some indication that Keith hates him now, that he’s disgusted or regrets. But it never comes. Keith stays in his lap, still purring and sated, catlike as he licks and bites at Shiro’s neck. 

“Sleep now, Alpha,” Keith purrs quietly in his ear, nuzzling. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m here, Keith,” Shiro promises, and wraps his arm around him. Keith hums happily, slumping against him. 

Shiro can feel the moment when Keith drops into sleep. He holds him, unwilling to pull him away. The fire’s starting to die down, but he doesn’t think he can move to add another log to the fire. 

He glances around. The wolf’s made himself scarce, he realizes, and somehow the idea of the wolf being witness to all this makes him blush more than anything else.

But the night creeps in. Shiro doesn’t move, determined to keep Keith safe and in his arms. 

-

_Keith spends his childhood and teenaged years thinking he is broken, that something inside him is wrong. That, despite everything he might wish for, there is no one in the universe who wants him, nobody out there made for him. He thinks that the reason the universe never gave him someone to love is simply because he will always end up alone: and who could love him anyway? He tells himself it doesn’t hurt and knows it’s a lie._

_Shiro spends his childhood and teenaged years fearing he is broken. Shiro makes it to the stars, and a year in captivity, and fears that he has been left broken, that something inside him is so fundamentally broken, that the reason the universe never gave him a soulmate was exactly for that reason: for who could love a broken weapon meant to destroy? He tells himself that it’s okay, that it’s for the best, and pretends that it doesn’t hurt._

-

Keith wakes slowly, inhaling first. Everything smells too strong— of sex, of heat, of Shiro, of Keith. 

Keith snaps his eyes open. 

He’s still in Shiro’s arms, although they’ve moved in the night, propped up against the wall of the cave rather than next to the fire. Keith shivers a little, naked and overwhelmed, thinking of how easily Shiro could pick him up and carry him, even with an injured leg, even with only one arm. 

Keith looks up, startled, and finds Shiro’s already awake, his scent tanged with sleepiness. His smile is tentative when their eyes meet, as if Shiro is the one who’s afraid. Keith is terrified. 

Shiro smells like Keith. 

Keith’s heat has passed, the coiling licks of it still deep in his gut. Keith’s an idiot for not noticing the signs earlier— how obvious it all feels now. Of course, Shiro’s always made him feel warm, but he should have recognized the start of a heat sickness. 

Before Keith can speak, Shiro offers, quietly, “I contacted the others to let them know we’d be delayed.”

Keith flicks his eyes away. The wolf is just beyond the mouth of the cave, lying on one of the big outcroppings of stone, sunbathing. Far enough away and downwind that he doesn’t have to smell Shiro and Keith. 

Keith feels a flush of embarrassment. He almost wants to climb out of Shiro’s lap, but he can’t summon the strength to do so. His entire body feels aching and sore. Most of all, he’s terrified that if he pulls away now, he’ll never feel Shiro again. 

“What did you tell them?” Keith asks.

“That I hurt my leg and we’re moving slow because of it,” Shiro says gently. Keith snaps his eyes up and Shiro’s smile is shy. “And that you were pushing yourself too hard looking out for me.” 

Keith wilts a little. “Shiro…”

“They said they hope you feel better soon,” Shiro says.

Keith snorts. Shiro makes a sound and Keith shakes his head. “Sorry,” he whispers. “It always surprises me when they care.”

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs back, “You’ve always belonged with us.” 

Keith looks up at Shiro in surprise. They sit there like that— a laughable position, both of them naked and Keith in Shiro’s lap. 

“I’m sorry,” they both say at the same time. Keith’s mouth flops open.

“Um,” Keith whispers. “What? You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Shiro grunts, frowning. His eyebrows knit together. “Keith, of course I—” 

“Right,” Keith whispers, blushing. He remembers begging for Shiro, remembers rocking against him, feeling the stretch of him. He’s ruined forever now, knowing what it feels like to be with Shiro. He remembers yelling that he loves him, too. Again. 

So fucking embarrassing. If Keith could shrivel up and disappear, he would. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. 

He curls his arm around Keith’s back, tentatively, his touch loose enough that if Keith wanted, he could break away. And Keith doesn’t want to. The touch is a good sign, his fingers splaying over Keith’s back, pressing there. 

“Yeah?” 

“What you said…” 

“Which part?” Keith asks, just to be petulant. 

Shiro licks his lips. Keith can’t help but stare at it, at the jut of Shiro’s bottom lip, swollen with bites and kisses. His neck’s all marked up with Keith, too. He positively reeks of Keith’s scent, covered in it. 

Keith shouldn’t feel proud. It’s instinct that makes him so, chest swelling with pride, completely drenched in Shiro’s scent. His alpha. He called him that. 

“That you love me,” Shiro says, voice hushed. 

Keith holds his breath, waiting. But Shiro doesn’t say anything else— he’s waiting, clearly, his eyes big and a little glassy. It’s almost laughable that Shiro somehow doesn’t know. Keith wants to laugh. Mostly, he just wants to cry. 

Keith takes a deep breath— beneath the near suffocating scent of sex and Keith on Shiro’s skin, he can smell it. Worry, yes, maybe fear. But hope, too. Shiro looks hopeful, too, his grey eyes still a little glassy, staring right at Keith. Truthfully, Keith doesn’t need to scent Shiro to know exactly what he’s feeling— for once, it’s written clearly on his face.

And, really, Keith realizes he never had to be afraid of saying it. He feels heat flush through him— different from his actual heat, but just affection flooding through him. Just love. 

Keith nods. “I do, Shiro.” 

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath, the confirmation making his eyes widen. Keith wants to laugh again, or more like laugh-cry. It’s nearly too much. He’s trembling, but Keith feels Shiro’s hand press surer to Keith’s spine.

Keith swallows and waits. 

Shiro takes a deep breath, and then lets it back out again. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. “You’re my soulmate.” 

Keith blinks once. Then twice. He stares at Shiro. Then he frowns. “We don’t have soulmates.” 

Shiro laughs, something strained and a little sad. He tilts away from Keith and Keith can’t help the mournful trill he makes, reaching back for Shiro— clinging to him.

But Shiro isn’t leaving. He’s just angling his body, pushing up one hip. Keith’s eyes drop down and look and—

It’s his name in Galran. _Kithra._

“What?” Keith whispers, unable to manage anything else. 

“I always thought it was a scribble,” Shiro admits. “Growing up. Before Voltron.” 

Keith’s mouth drops open. He thought it was strange, how Shiro knew his name before. He reaches out wordlessly, pressing his fingertips to the brand on Shiro’s skin. Shiro sucks in a deep breath and the mark feels warm beneath Keith’s fingertips, burning against his touch. His.

Him. Branded on Shiro. Marking him. 

“I— The Galra don’t have soulmates,” Keith says. 

Shiro frowns at him. “What?” 

“That’s why I don’t have a mark,” Keith whispers. “The Galra— we don’t have them. I mean. We don’t have a mark to say who it is. Mom says the Galra might have, once, a long time ago. Too long ago now. But it was a weakness. It was—” 

“Keith,” Shiro interrupts gently. Keith looks up at him and Shiro whispers, “I love you.” 

Keith snaps his mouth shut. 

It feels like too much. He’s come off the first heat he’s had in a while. The first heat where it wasn’t just agony and pain and longing. This time, Shiro was there, holding him, taking care of him, offering himself to him. 

And now he’s Shiro’s soulmate. His name is on Shiro’s skin. Shiro is holding him. Shiro _loves him, too._

It’s those words that breaks Keith’s chest open, that leaves him bleeding and raw. It’s too sweet. It’s too much of what Keith’s wanted his entire life. It’s too _much._

The sob punches out of his throat. Keith didn’t think he’d cry, and yet it courses through him, taking him completely by surprise. One moment, he’s in Shiro’s lap, the next, he’s sobbing. He presses his face hard against Shiro’s shoulder, hiding as a sob wracks through him.

“Keith—” Shiro whispers, alarmed. 

Keith just clings, though, wordlessly. He can’t find words. A moment later, his entire body vibrates with a purr— and he hopes that’s answer enough. He’s okay. He’s safe. He’s in Shiro’s arms and he’s _happy_. His purr is a rattling, startled thing, but it’s strong— it’s loud. It’s a strange sensation to be purring while he’s crying. 

Shiro holds him tight, mouth dropping down and whispering against Keith’s ear. The purr must soothe him, because he doesn’t apologize— which Keith is grateful for— but instead whispers only sweet words to him, tender and sincere. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, which has always been the best sound in the world— the sound of his name in Shiro’s voice, soft and _his_. 

Keith sniffles, overwhelmed, his purr a rumbling thunder. He clings hard to Shiro, weeping against his shoulder and feeling stupid for it. 

“ _Shiro!_ ” he finally manages, hiccupping.

“Yeah, baby,” Shiro whispers, running his hand up and down Keith’s spine. Gently, almost teasingly, he wraps his fingers around Keith’s tail and tugs. 

Keith can’t even be embarrassed about the whole tail thing. He sniffles again, feeling ridiculous. He jerks back to rub at his face, trying to wipe the tears away.

Shiro is far more gentle when he reaches his hand up, cupping Keith’s cheek.

“Sorry,” Keith whispers. “I didn’t think I’d cry.” 

“It’s okay,” Shiro assures him. He swipes his thumb over Keith’s cheek, wiping away the tears. He does it again to the other cheek, taking his time with his one hand. It’s infinitely too sweet, too tender. It makes Keith start crying again, face all scrunched up and ugly. 

“Sorry,” Keith says again. He doesn’t duck his head, though, just letting the tears slip out. He doesn’t need to hide from Shiro. He never had to hide from him. 

Shiro was always going to be his. 

“Can I kiss you?” Shiro asks.

Keith blinks at him, tears spilling down his cheek that Shiro obediently wipes away. Keith gives a tentative nod, more stunned than anything else. Instead of kissing him on the mouth, though, Shiro presses his mouth to each of Keith’s cheeks, then his forehead.

“Shiro,” Keith says, almost scolding. 

It feels ridiculous, naked with Shiro and crying like an idiot. 

Shiro rubs his thumb gently on Keith’s cheek, soothing. His own eyes are watery now, like he’s overwhelmed by everything. Maybe he is. Of course he would be. 

“Have you slept?” Keith asks. 

Shiro shakes his head. Keith makes a mournful sound. He cups Shiro’s face, fingers at his jaw. He makes another sound, pained and despairing. 

“I should have—”

“Shh,” Shiro whispers. He pets Keith’s hair away from his face, soothing and pointed, just like Keith did with Shiro’s hair before, the movement purposeful. “You always take care of me, Keith. Let me take care of you.”

Keith makes a sound. It sounds too similar to what they’d said during Keith’s heat. He feels himself start to flush. 

Gently, so gently, Shiro leans forward and lies Keith out on his back. The fire’s long gone and the daylight floods into the cave, everything pale in the light, but somehow that doesn’t matter as Shiro presses down against Keith’s body. Shiro was always his world, anyway— everything he could sense, everything he could see, all the life and color of his world. 

Keith feels small beneath the press of Shiro’s body to his, and he welcomes it. This was always meant to be his, he thinks— he chose Shiro, too long ago now to know the exact moment. But it feels like he’s always known: his soul knew Shiro from the beginning. 

He makes a little sound, a lick of a purr, the sigh of a breath. 

“Shiro,” he whispers. 

“Yeah, baby,” Shiro murmurs back and Keith remembers that name, a shiver rippling down his spine. He loves the sound of that, too, almost as much as how Shiro says his name. 

“I like that,” Keith confesses.

Shiro’s smile turns playful when he answers, “I know.” 

Keith huffs. His fingers ghost over Shiro’s hip, touching _his_ name on Shiro’s skin. Shiro shudders, too, like the touch is overwhelming him. _Kithra._ Keith’s fingers follow the proper strokes of it, spelling it out with the drag of his fingertip. 

Keith looks up at him, blinking back the last of his tears, and can’t help but laugh. “Is this all real?”

“Yeah,” Shiro assures him. He laughs, blinking rapidly, too, his eyes flooded with warmth and love— for Keith. Only Keith. “Yeah. It’s real.” 

Keith laughs and parts his legs, lifting them to wrap around Shiro’s hips. When Shiro enters him, slow and gentle, it’s nothing like the rush and desperation of his heat. It feels like coming home, it feels like welcoming Shiro back into his body because that’s where he’s always belonged. Their scents mingle together and Keith trills quietly.

He tips his face up and catches Shiro’s mouth with his, kisses him slow and gentle and needy. He squirms his hips down, pulling Shiro in deeper to him. Shiro groans and kisses him back, a sigh of his breath, a pillow of his lips. 

It’s blissful, to have Shiro this close, to be lucid enough to appreciate it, how big Shiro feels pressed down on him, how protected Keith feels. The flex of Shiro’s hips as he strokes back and presses in again. How his hand touches Keith and holds on, cradling his head away from the hard floor of the cave. 

He kisses Shiro and never wants to stop, wants to always be surrounded like this. His cock rubs against Shiro’s stomach and that’s blissful, too. He feels like he’s being absorbed into Shiro, like they’re really, truly becoming one. 

He thinks he might cry again. He’s not sure. Shiro kisses him, then kisses his jaw, his ear, his neck, licking at the spots Keith did to him, mimicking him. It makes Keith sigh and he thinks, yes, he’ll need to explain everything to him. 

But for now, there’s just this. There’s Shiro in his arms, Shiro inside him, Shiro kissing him, Shiro staring into his eyes and whispering, “I love you with everything I am, Keith.”

And Keith believes him, knows it’s true, and says it back. His voice is a gravelly murmur, overwhelmed and unbearably happy.

Shiro’s laugh is a broken thing, and happy, too. “And I was made for you, too.” 

Keith presses his face into Shiro’s shoulder and whimpers. He spent too many years in the darkness, thinking that there was nothing in the universe for him, that nobody could ever want him. And instead, there’s this. 

Instead, Keith is happy. Their family is waiting for them, there’s still the journey back home, but this— this is all that matters now. The two of them, together, having found each other in this vast, open universe. 

The two of them, soulmates. Bonded. Together. 

When Keith comes, it’s because of Shiro striking so deep inside him that Keith can’t breathe. He touches Shiro’s face and cries his name and spills out over his stomach, then squeezes around Shiro until Shiro comes, too, pressing his face into Keith’s neck and rocking against him.

As they pant for breath, the world coming back into startling focus, Keith breathes again, surrounding himself with the comforting scent of them commingled. Both of them, together. 

“Soulmate,” Keith says afterward, as they fumble their way down to the river to clean up and restock for the journey they’ll make— tomorrow. Once Keith and Shiro have rested. 

Shiro turns towards him, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes, his smile so sweet, sweeter than Keith’s ever seen it. He looks like starlight, standing at the lip of the river, the sun dancing in his silver hair. 

Keith wants to touch him, just to make sure he’s real. He cups Shiro’s cheek.

“Soulmate,” Shiro confirms, cupping Keith’s hip, the spot where Keith would have Shiro’s name branded into his skin, even if invisible. 

When they kiss, that feels like a brand, too— every inch of himself belonging to Shiro. Every inch of Shiro belonging to him. He feels the whisper of Shiro’s breath against his lips, the way his nose presses against his cheek, his fingers in his hair. 

Shiro is worshipful as he kisses him, sucking on his bottom lip and licking into Keith’s mouth. He swallows Keith’s pleased breath, his smile curving against Keith’s. His fingers tug on his hair, drawing him in closer. His chin bumps Keith’s. His teeth drag across his lip. His tongue across his mouth. Keith can’t breathe, never wants to breathe again if it means pulling away from Shiro. He moans softly and tugs him in deeper, sucking Shiro’s tongue into his mouth and swallowing the gasping huff of his name on Shiro’s lips. 

The both of them, finding each other in this universe— there, for each other. Together. The universe might be infinite stars, stone around suns, comets and hurtling forces. They might be fighting a battle they might not win.

But Keith’s faced down much worse for Shiro’s sake. And he’s prepared to do so much more.

He cups Shiro’s cheek— his soulmate’s cheek, someone infinitely precious— and draws him in to kiss him, again and again, slow and sweet. His. Only his. 

Keith never needed a soulmark to know who his soul belonged to. He whispers Shiro’s name, praising and vowing, infinitely precious and cherished. 

“Shiro,” he murmurs, and feels the brand of him all over his skin, pulling Shiro down closer to him, welcoming him into his arms. His. The only one. _Shiro._

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.
> 
> **ETA:** A guest in the comments drew an absolutely adorable [Keith with a tail](https://imgur.com/a/sXt1Qua)! Thank you so much and be sure to check out this cutie.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream)


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